<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Door Was Always Open by dykonic_fic</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26704003">The Door Was Always Open</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykonic_fic/pseuds/dykonic_fic'>dykonic_fic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Painted Shut [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ableism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bastard Elias, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gaslighting, Gen, Head Archivist Tim, Hospitals, M/M, Manipulation, Memory Issues, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Disability, Police Brutality, Rating May Change, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhealthy Power Dynamics, as well as tma typical horror, content warning: coercive control, entities and avatars have a strong presence in this fic, passive aggression, receptionist jon, spooky medical problems analogue to real conditions</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 06:06:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>79,405</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26704003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dykonic_fic/pseuds/dykonic_fic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon had done everything in his power for an easy life, and as far as he knew, he'd achieved it at last.</p><p>Unfortunately, there was more going on in the Magnus Institute than he could see from behind the receptionist's desk, and more to Elias than anyone could ever know. Least of all the man who had fallen in love with him.</p><p>Now, sick, unable to recall the supernatural encounters he's endured at the Institute, and relying on Elias to support him as he recovers, Jon still thinks he has an easy life. Just... a complicated one, sometimes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker, look the archivists all have gay little crushes on Jon and each other, tagging more ships as they occur</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Painted Shut [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854661</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>145</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Disorientation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>cw: abuse, exploiting memory problems, chronic pain, mobility issues, depiction of the worst possible hospital experience, medical malpractice</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Of course, Jon wanted to leave the hospital, it wasn’t that he wanted to stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then what is the problem, exactly?’ Elias prodded. 
</span></p><p>
  <span>Jon couldn’t put it into words. He’d felt like that a lot recently. Dopey was a word he kept returning to. Or docile. He didn’t say either out loud. Instead he sighed, and looked blankly at the door. He made no effort to simply swipe away the blanket, stand, and put one foot in front of the other and leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jon? Jon-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hm.’ He stared ahead, listless, and drew himself up. Sitting up, his head swam.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Beneath the thick haze, he worried about his brain. He’d had seizures, seizures caused by an unknown parasite. He had felt normal, all while the damage done to his body, his brain, had ripped through him and left him defenceless as parasites </span>
  <em>
    <span>ate the rest of him alive.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Without a word, Jon sank back into bed. He couldn’t face being discharged. There were so many more appointments he’d have to attend, so many scans and blood tests and they’d have to redress his wounds again, and it didn’t feel worth leaving. And there was always the worry that outside of the protection offered by the intense surveillance of heart monitors and brain scans, something would happen to him. It’s not like he’d know if it did, it would just be over, unless he got lucky enough to be saved twice.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t face Elias either. The man stood over him, and he was holding folded clothes out in front of him. They were Jon’s. He was waiting for him to take them from him so that Jon could get dressed, and then go to the doctor’s office, and finally be discharged so they could both leave.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jon wanted to leave the hospital, why wouldn’t he? He certainly knew Elias was eager to return home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned away, and stared at the wall instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias put the clothes down on the end of the bed. ‘I don’t understand why-‘</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He cut himself off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, don’t worry. Never mind.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon didn’t stir. He waited for Elias to change his mind and say whatever it was out loud, but instead, he heard his smart dress shoes click on the plastic floor and the door shut behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Jon shot up. The prickling sensation of unease jolted him to action, and he quickly stripped out of the hospital gown and into the clothes Elias had picked up for him from his flat last night, while Jon stayed for overnight observation. He had hoped it was tidy back home, or at least acceptable. He’d been anxious handing over the key, but really, who else could he ask instead?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a simple jumper and the only pair of jeans Jon owned, but the gesture made him emotional. He didn’t know what he would do if Elias hadn’t been there for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scrambled out of the room to find him there, waiting behind the door. Jon would smile, but it still hurt. He nodded curtly, and Elias loosely took his hand. Jon flinched, and Elias dropped it. They were weaning him off the heavier painkillers, and he had to go to the GP to go over his care plan and pick up the prescriptions and discuss what the future of his health might look like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They started at a brisk stride, but Elias soon outpaced Jon’s slow hobble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can we stop?’ Jon hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course.’ Elias came to a dead stop, and Jon bumped into him. The pain beneath each patch of gauze flared again, and Jon clenched his jaw. The whimpered gasp of pain escaped him anyway, and he heaved a breath in and out to steady himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sorry, it’s just… hard.’ It wasn’t much of an excuse. It was all he had to offer. He looked up from the floor he was fixing with his glare, and Elias’ face was a patient smile. He offered his arm. Jon’s own smile twitched at the gesture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How gentlemanly.’ He gently sniped as he slipped his own arm over Elias’, and leaned against him as they walked on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was not a long walk to the doctor’s office, Jon did not want to tell him to stop again. Besides, his breathing was haggard and Elias could feel every twitch and flinch beside him. Jon made a point not to ask again. Elias kept them both moving forward. Jon was grateful, really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias guided him easily through the corridors, and Jon was easily led, or tried to be despite the pain and how difficult it made him to wrangle. But he knew which office was the GP’s when they reached it. There was a nameplate on the door, and a small window Jon scoured immediately. The doctor hadn’t seen them yet, and Jon retreated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias’ eyes were wide and he jerked his head towards the door. ‘Jon?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Just… give me a minute.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias nodded, but he had to ask. ‘Why?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon stared again, like he was looking for an answer on the white surfaces of the walls, floor, door. ‘What if this is it? What if I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>get</span>
  </em>
  <span> better.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pursed his lips, regretting the need he heard in his own voice. ‘Didn’t mean to say it like that.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias softened, and grazed his fingertips against Jon’s. It was the most he could do without hurting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come on, Jon. You have to face up to it. At least there’ll be certainty.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded again. ‘Thanks. That was a lot more useful than… empty words.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘It might not all be okay. But I’ll be right here, if you need me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right.’ He breathed. He opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor looked up at him and offered him the seat. Elias sat next to him, just out of reach. Jon gripped the armrests. His heart pounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t remember what he was meant to know. When they’d done the MRI scan, there was some talk of the next one, and Jon hadn’t taken it in. When they’d taken the blood samples, Jon at least expected them to keep coming back for more, and the nurse who cut away the gauze and replaced it had told him it wouldn’t be the last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor methodically explained that this meeting was a discharge assessment, that he was fully involved in this process and that he had control over his treatment and the information released to loved ones and carers.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jon kept his eyes from Elias, and nodded. But the process didn’t move on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s asking if you want me to stay in the room, or whether you're happy to involve me.’ Elias clarified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh!’ Jon was a little surprised. ‘Yes, yes, he’s welcome.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt close to folding in on himself, demanding Elias left as soon as the words were out of his mouth. He could prepare himself for any news, but he couldn’t prepare anyone else.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>But he couldn’t just change his mind, so he stayed quiet and tried to focus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sheets of paper were passed in his direction. There was the prescription he expected, he knew there was a pharmacy in every hospital, and he would pick up the prescription there. But talk was fast, and suddenly, there was a discussion of a mobility aid, and the mere thought sent Jon reeling. But Elias nodded, and as if guided by a thumping rhythm, the conversation moved on and away.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s mouth was dry, and the chill seeped through the room. There must be a draught, somewhere, and the cold curled around his ankles. He asked if that was normal, to be expected for his condition.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Elias and the doctor fixed him with the same concerned stare, before sliding their attention from him, and continuing to talk about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon opened his mouth, but thought better and closed it. He decided he would wait until he understood more before he showed himself up again. He stayed silent until he latched onto something that made sense to him. A date for his next appointment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll note that down.’ He added primly. Elias humoured him and nodded.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘I didn’t bring your book though.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s brow furrowed. But he didn’t want to embarrass himself and admit he knew even less than Elias seemed to think he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have a calendar on my phone. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> been dragged into the 21</span>
  <span>st</span>
  <span> Century.’ He sniffed, and began painstakingly typing an entry on the tiny touch screen. His hands trembled now. They’d probably already covered that. It made it difficult, and Elias watched and waited for Jon to give in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can just remind you,’ he countered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, don’t worry about it. It’s my appointment.’ There was a cold snap in his words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you’re sure,’ Elias placated. Jon checked he’d entered the date in correctly and made sure it would remind him. This might be the only fact he would come away certain of, but he was certain of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Elias, I am a receptionist. I can handle scheduling.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon could only really tell that the consultation was over because the doctor stood up, and Elias took her cue. Jon, of course, followed Elias. Of course, he knew the way. He walked on quickly, probably by habit, but Jon had to stop him. He winced, knowing he didn’t have a choice, that he genuinely could not just catch up to him if he put in a little effort.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Elias,’ he called. The man stopped, turned and faced him. ‘Wait up?’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, and came back to meet Jon as he struggled forward. He opened his arms to him, and Jon collapsed into the haphazard embrace. He murmured something against Elias’ chest.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hm?’ He asked. Jon pulled away enough that Elias might hear this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you think we could go over some of that again? Over lunch, maybe?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias nodded, and wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist, pulling him back against him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s okay,’ Elias accepted, and that was all Jon needed. Jon took his arm again and they stumbled down the corridor together.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It took time, and breaks, and more of Elias’ patience than Jon could bear to imagine, but they eventually made it to the pharmacy. With a shaking hand, Jon offered the sheet up. He told the pharmacist his birthday. He gave up his address. They gave him several white paper bags containing boxes. They handed him a cane. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dull metal was cool in his grip, and the plastic T-bar handle fit comfortably in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Make sure you adjust that to your height. And don’t use it until physio show you how.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right.’ Jon nodded. He leant on the cane and tried getting used to walking with it. The pharmacist watched him walk away using it, and if he got it wrong, no one corrected him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias guided them to the carpark. Jon got in the car Elias unlocked. He slotted the cane against him, between the sidewall and his thigh. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He looked out the window. In front of the hospital, in the gardens surrounding the whole building, there were a few people in wheelchairs, pushed by loved ones. They were enjoying the sun and chatting together. Others were on crutches, some in gowns, most in their clothes. Jon wondered distantly why he didn’t get a wheelchair for the journey down to the pharmacy at least. He supposed they were all in use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias put the radio on, quiet enough that it was obvious neither was listening. It didn’t make good background noise, it just hummed beneath the sound of the car engine. Jon watched the short, redbrick pillared apartments become tall, and modern. He knew he wasn’t going back to Bromley. They were on their way to Elias’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could stop for a bit there. He remembered he told Elias he would go back with him when they discharged him, and he knew he was discharged. But the details were not clearer. Would he get a taxi back from Elias’ tonight or tomorrow morning? He didn’t want to push it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever promises he made to himself, he wasn’t quite strong enough to go home and be alone, not if there was an alternative, and not if that was Elias.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thank you.’ Jon started. Elias flicked his eyes towards Jon, but faced the road. That made it easier. ‘You’ve been patient with me today, and you were by my side yesterday, and… I appreciate it. Want you to know that.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Elias quirked a smile, and the ebbing afternoon sun poured on them like honey. The light hit Elias like he was made for it, and Jon was struck with the strangeness of it all, and the luck. He took in everything about Elias, from his lopsided grin, the five o’clock shadow tracing his jaw and creeping down his collar, to the rings on his fingers as he drummed them against the steering wheel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know it.’ Elias assured him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon stared at those rings a moment longer. Something of that swell of affection or attraction or simple appreciation cooled the longer he looked at them. So he looked away instead. Put his smile right back where it was, and looked at all the skyscrapers. He hadn’t paid much attention to them last time he’d taken the drive to this part of London. Much like then, the only thing he’d paid any attention to was Elias.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias opened Jon’s car door, and offered a hand to help him out. They walked up to Elias’ apartment block, a steel and glass behemoth. Jon remembered this sight, it had briefly impressed him more than the man on his arm. Only for a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, Jon couldn’t bound up the flights of stairs like he had last time. Even looking at them daunted him to the point of welling up. He gripped his cane, and took the first step.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, Elias coughed. He was standing by the lift, enraptured by the picture of stubborn self-destruction Jon made. Jon flushed, and joined Elias as they waited for the lift.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Could have told me about this last time.’ Jon huffed. Elias laughed, gently.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where’d the fun be in that?’ He teased.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon went cold. Where would the fun be? He bit his bottom lip and fixated on the concept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the lift, Elias stood close by him. Jon wanted to take the comfort, but he wasn’t sure he could without knowing what it might cost him. He didn’t want to lead anyone on, accidentally make promises he couldn’t keep. So he let the small distance between them be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias opened the front door to his apartment, and held it open with a well-practiced gesture. Behind him stood the apartment, as intimidating and beautiful as Jon remembered. There was not a thing out of place, a tacky ornament or out of balance furnishing. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever Elias had seen in Jon’s apartment would never have been good enough.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jon looked from the room and back to Elias, inviting him in. It took his breath away. He stepped in, and Elias closed the door behind them.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tea?’ He offered.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please,’ Jon accepted, and wondered if he should leave afterwards. If not, this would be the time to ask what the plan was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apartment was open plan, and from the navy suede sofa, Jon watched Elias make tea in the kitchen. It was built from exposed brick and lined with copper utensils. The early evening sun shone through and caught in Elias’ hair, as he made tea with his back to Jon.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>It was probably not what Jon would usually focus on, but Elias moved so fluidly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did you ever dance?’ Jon asked aloud.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘A long time ago, why’d you ask? Surely you don’t fancy-‘</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘No,’ Jon laughed, mortified. ‘And I never have, thank you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s a shame.’ Elias’ voice was mild. ‘Maybe I could teach you, after physio makes a new man of you.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>So he was doing physio.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>‘Absolutely not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Suit yourself.’ Elias gave in too easily. With that same cat-like gait, he walked over, bearing a steaming mug in each hand. He leaned over easily, and placed it on the coffee table, a sleek black thing made of some polished material. It gleamed, and Jon looked for a coaster. </span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Elias reminded him to take the medicine prescribed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, it says it has to be taken with food. I’ll drink this and be off then,’ he hurried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias lay a hand on Jon’s arm, between two extractions. It throbbed, but it was not the blinding pain of direct contact with the injuries. Jon paused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stay? Only if you like, but I was going to order something.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon removed the hand from his arm. It hurt. It only hurt now. But he nodded. He wanted to stay too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Only if you know a decent take out.’ He teased, and Elias smiled.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Elias put on a documentary, and they sat together on the sofa as Elias ordered from somewhere nearby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tired?’ Elias asked. Jon was blinking at the TV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Can we run through that discharge assessment now?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias nodded. ‘Sure, but I’m not sure how much you’ll take in. Wouldn’t you rather do this tomorrow?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon rolled his eyes and tried to sit up straighter to at least appear more awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right, let’s start with what’s actually wrong with me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias nodded confidently, and he watched as Jon’s eyelids drooped, fighting to follow the details of the information he had asked Elias to give him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You were infected a little while after the Institute was, and at least one of the effects the parasite had on you was neurological.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded, but struggled to raise his head. Elias continued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The infestation in the archives became exponentially worse in the larval bloom, and the sound of the alarm triggered your seizure. Being unconscious, the significantly more developed form of the parasites ate away at your flesh in multiple sites- Jon?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seemed the more directly Elias addressed Jon’s injuries, the closer he got to the truth, the more Jon tuned out. He gave only a subdued hum to demonstrate he was listening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And then we pulled them all out with a corkscrew. It’s done unfathomable things to your nerves and muscles, but really, you’re luckier than you’ll probably ever know.’</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s head dropped against the back of the chair. He was deep in sleep. He hadn’t heard a word of it. Elias brushed his fingers through Jon’s hair, took in the remarkable feeling that his back-up plan ought to be re-prioritised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was already looking more viable than his other options.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Togetherness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At six am sharp, Elias stopped pretending to sleep, put on a robe and went into the kitchen. Jon felt the dip in the bed, but the disturbance did not wake him from the nightmare he was embroiled in. Elias kept an eye on him through a book cover on the shelf, but Jon did not stir as Elias made coffee and started the day. The Institute was closed, and would be until his assistants had what they needed. </p>
<p>He sat at the desk in his study, and brought the mug to his lips as he hovered the cursor over each of the icons on the screen before him. Sometimes, he really missed the simplicity of a good handwritten note, but email was the future. Or at least, the present. Probably a little out of date, now, actually. </p>
<p>He composed the email carefully, imbuing it with as much compulsion as he could muster, and CC’d Tim, Sasha, and Martin. He was excited to send it, knowing he’d learn more about the recipients no matter how they responded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Dear all, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Your unique capabilities and experience handling the corruption make you the ideal candidates to explore the Institute. Find the source of the infestation and get back to me on the likelihood of a second attack. It’s vital we know how at risk the institute is to further infestations or other invasions, for all our sakes.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> You’re free to explore the institute in its entirety, and as the institute is technically closed to the public and general staff, you won’t be disturbed. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Yours sincerely, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Elias</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seeing it in his sent box, Elias was satisfied. He then deleted the copies he accidentally saved to drafts, and thought about how he was going to ask Jon to work from home on his sick leave because he was not doing this again for anything less important than his archivists. Though, even their importance was quickly diminishing. Elias drummed his fingers on the desk, and mentally delegated more to Jon.</p>
<p>A few moments later, he had a new email in his inbox.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Elias, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> No offence but no thakns?  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Yours sincerely, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Tim</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Elias blinked. He wasn’t expecting such an abrupt refusal. As usual, Tim filled him with bitterness, and always he resented learning something he already knew perfectly well.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Dear Elias, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> With all due respect, I thought we were on leave? Saturday’s left us all shaken so I think it’s important for us all to rest and reassess later. I understand the threat to the institute, which is why it might be best for us to leave it empty until we are in a fit state to assess the risks. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Best wishes, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Sasha </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, Elias consoled himself with the knowledge he could have picked worse. He could have picked Sasha.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>hi elias, </em>
</p>
<p><em> you can count on us :) </em> <em> <br/></em> <em> - martin </em></p>
<p>
  <em> Ps: do you know if jons alright? We tried to visit him in hospital but they said immediate family only :(  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span class="u"> <em> GET OUTLOOK FOR IOS  </em> </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Elias smiled. Perhaps someone in the archives could be relied on to play along. Martin at least knew exactly what was being asked of him, and it was nothing short of devotion-- even if they didn’t understand that yet. Replying to Martin’s email, and CC’ing the other archivists in, Elias typed a response.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Dear all, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Best not to go alone. Pick a date this week, later if you need more time to recover from the shock and prepare emotionally. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I’ve been in touch with Jon. While I’m sure his condition will improve from its current state, he made it very clear he has no interest in revisiting the events of Saturday under any circumstances. As such, I shall not pass on your well wishes, and should he return to the Institute in the future, I would avoid doing so in person, or at all. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Best wishes, </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Elias </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Satisfied that should discourage the archivists from harassing Jon with uncomfortable questions or support, Elias made a cup of tea for Jon. </p>
<p>He knew he was awake and sitting up straight, staring beseechingly at the open door and empty space on the bed. Just as he had in the hospital, Jon gripped the sheets tightly and pressed his back into the headboard. Elias moved into the space, and as before, he occupied the open doorway for a moment, just to see how long he could wait before Jon broke from his trance and recognised Elias as human. </p>
<p>Finally, Jon turned his eyes to Elias. They were wide, round, shining, and more whites than iris. A nervous smile crept up his face, but his eyes remained blown until Elias smiled, offered the tea, and sat down with him.</p>
<p>‘Cuppa?’ The informality sounded stilted in his mouth, but Jon didn’t notice.</p>
<p>‘Sorry,’ Jon panted. ‘Didn’t see you there.’</p>
<p>Elias shook his head, and smiled slightly.</p>
<p>‘It’s quite understandable.’</p>
<p>Jon sighed.</p>
<p>‘Did you sleep well?’ Elias ventured, as if he didn’t know that Jon slept in shallow fits between nightmares.</p>
<p>He nodded enthusiastically, then winced. ‘Very well, thank you.’</p>
<p>Elias took Jon’s hands, and watched the way Jon’s eyes shot between Elias’ face and their interlaced fingers. He let Jon’s expression settle before he began.</p>
<p>‘So I was thinking, I can take you back to your place any time you like, or I can swing by and pick up anything else you need from home. You’re welcome here, and you wouldn’t be inconveniencing me either way.’</p>
<p>Jon swallowed tightly. He held on tightly, too. ‘Um, Elias, that’s very kind-’</p>
<p>Elias lifted Jon’s hand and pressed a quick kiss to the inside of his wrist. Jon’s jaw dropped. ‘Finish your tea and let me know later. I’ll be in the living room.’</p>
<p>‘Right.’ </p>
<p>In a bedroom rather unlike Elias’, from a bed very different from the one Jon would stay in until midday, Tim seethed. He had a letter of resignation typed up, and he had his finger on the trackpad of his laptop, the cursor hovering over the send icon. He was ready to leave. He wanted to learn more about the world he glimpsed, the world Danny had died in, but Tim had a line, and Tim had crossed it on Saturday, and Tim was not going back. He was never going to do that to someone again, and he would never return to the place where he did it.</p>
<p>In Rosie’s statement, she said that those connected to Elias were unable to leave, but Tim had been reluctant to push it. Now he was pushing with all his might, and he could not push his finger down on the trackpad and leave. </p>
<p>His jaw was clenched, he screwed his free hand into a fist that cut half moon indentations into his palm.</p>
<p>He tried again. No matter how he tensed, Tim could not move.</p>
<p>Tim could not go back. He could only go on.</p>
<p>Like a spring released, he shot out from bed, the laptop and its unsent letter rolled from his lap onto the other side of his double bed. Tim stood there for a moment, cast one last eye over the message to Elias he could not send, and ran away. He had thrown on clothes and slammed the door shut behind him before he had time to think.</p>
<p>He moved purposefully, cutting through crowds that parted before him because they knew to stay out of his way. Tim used to draw people in. Still could, but only if he asked. He’d really been avoiding asking anyone anything, recently. Didn’t feel right.</p>
<p>And for all that restraint, he’d still driven a bloody point into a body just when given the opportunity.</p>
<p>He turned down a familiar street. That wasn’t fair, he consoled himself. <em> We were helping. </em></p>
<p>The words were hollow.</p>
<p>
  <em> I wasn’t the only one. </em>
</p>
<p>There was more than one player at the theater, more than one dancer in the hall under the opera house. They all shared the blame equally, to Tim. So why did it matter that Tim was not the only one there that Saturday? What good did it do that it wasn’t his idea, was never his plan, never his intention?</p>
<p>The words were as juvenile in his own mouth as a child claiming they didn’t start it, that it wasn’t fair. </p>
<p>He stopped against a wall. The alley was dim, and he leant against the cool wall. The smell was profoundly unpleasant, but Tim needed to catch his breath. He heaved, slid his hands over his face and into his hair, and pulled himself together.</p>
<p>He strode out, slower now, breathing calmly. He knew how to walk through the world like everyone else, like somebody else. The edge of something hard and frightened must have softened away in his eyes, as he weaved through the crowd as if he were a part of it.</p>
<p>It still took his breath away to see the Institute before him.</p>
<p>‘Of course.’ He muttered to himself, bitter. ‘Obviously.’</p>
<p>He sat on the steps, and hugged his knees to his chest. There was blood on the grey stone slabs. The stain wasn’t coming out any time soon. The Institute was closed. No one was around or coming to visit or paying the building any attention at all.</p>
<p>‘Hey.’</p>
<p>Tim slid his eyes up from the blood-speckled paving stones. He expected her, somehow. He had no reason to, though. She said she wasn’t coming, but so did he.</p>
<p>‘Hey, Sash.’</p>
<p>‘Waiting for me?’ She took a stab at playful, but they both knew that there was no way he could have anticipated her arrival.</p>
<p>‘Sure. Guess we’re just waiting on Martin now.’</p>
<p>She sat next to Tim, thighs brushing against each other. He held a hand open for her, and she took it. </p>
<p>‘We’re doing this, aren’t we?’</p>
<p>‘Yup.’</p>
<p>‘And we don’t want to.’</p>
<p>‘Nope.’</p>
<p>‘We could just go home. We don’t have to do this.’</p>
<p>‘What’s the chance we’ll just wind up here every day until we do?’ Tim was resigned, and Sasha, so full of apprehension, squeezed a little.</p>
<p>‘I tried to quit this morning.’ Tim looked her in the face, her dark eyes had a faraway look he recognised in the mirror.</p>
<p>‘Me too. And here we are.’</p>
<p>She pulled Tim into her arms, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Spontaneous little gesture she didn’t flinch away from. Looking at the street behind her, he smiled and looped his arms around her waist. The passersby would just see a couple, and nothing more.</p>
<p>‘Hi guys!’</p>
<p>‘Hey Martin,’ Sasha greeted over Tim’s shoulder.</p>
<p>‘Hey,’ Tim added, staying where he was.</p>
<p>‘How’d I know I’d find you two here?’ He asked, as if they’d agreed to meet here. Even without  turning to look at him, Tim knew that Martin was afraid. Tim always knew when someone was afraid now. </p>
<p>Tim knew that Martin was acutely aware of how he knew Tim and Sasha would be here. He was less aware of why they would wait for him, though.</p>
<p>‘Good question.’ Tim replied. He did not bother to put the smile in his voice. He let go of Sasha, and helped her up, before finally turning around to face Martin. He slumped where he stood, and shifted his weight from one leg to the next. His hands stayed in his coat pockets, and Tim would be willing to bet Martin clutched the corkscrew in one hand. The thought made him want to shake him, but he knew it might be a good move for where they were going.</p>
<p>‘We doing this?’ He asked, just one more time. He didn’t want to. He looked from Sasha’s pinched face to Martin’s terrified one.</p>
<p>They stood in front of him and nodded, grimly resolved.</p>
<p>‘Come on then.’</p>
<p>Tim fished the keys to the Institute out of the inner pocket in his leather jacket. He froze. He hadn’t even meant anything by picking this jacket, it was only the nearest one left on the floor from where he’d stepped out of his clothes and into bed, where he had stayed since Saturday night.</p>
<p>He shook his head to himself, and opened the front door. ‘No such thing as coincidence, huh?’</p>
<p>The wooden door was imposing, it looked as though it was not built to open, but when Tim pushed, he wasn’t even met with the resistance of a creak. Inside, it was dark, a narrow corridor of light filtering through only as far as the abandoned receptionist’s desk. He could see the shrunken bodies of the worms forming a pale residue on the floor, and dreaded to think what else the Corruption might have done, what else it might still do.</p>
<p>Tim looked over his shoulder at Martin and Sasha. They were right behind him. He beckoned them closer, and walked in.</p>
<p>They followed right behind him.</p>
<p>Their footsteps echoed as they moved about reception.</p>
<p>‘Tim,’ Martin started, voice pitching. ‘Do you know what we’re looking for? Exactly?’</p>
<p>‘“The source of the infestation” doesn’t narrow it down enough for you?’ Sasha came dangerously close to making a joke.</p>
<p>Martin snorted, and suddenly Tim was back. This was just another crazy day at the Institute. He found the lights and flicked them on.</p>
<p>‘Bit less spooky in here now.’ He added, satisfied.</p>
<p>‘Oh cool, it’s Jon’s book!’ Sasha exclaimed.</p>
<p>‘What?’</p>
<p>She bent down and picked it up, rifling through it eagerly. ‘Yeah, I’ve seen him with this a bunch, and when I ran through reception he picked it up. Must have dropped it pretty quickly though- I’ve been dying to know what’s in this thing-’</p>
<p>She stopped abruptly, visibly recoiling. ‘Oh.’</p>
<p>Tim and Martin drew near, clamoring to read over her shoulder.</p>
<p>‘What is it?’</p>
<p>Sasha had stopped on a page mid way through the book. There, written in blue ballpoint in the log, was Naomi Herne’s record of entry to the Magnus Institute.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Subject; Herne, Naomi</p>
<p>Arrival; 12:15?</p>
<p>Sign Out; ???</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What the hell does that mean?’ Tim breathed.</p>
<p>Sasha was tense against him.</p>
<p>‘No idea.’</p>
<p>She was evidently rattled.</p>
<p>‘See what else is in there,’ Martin encouraged her.</p>
<p>The following pages were all blank. Sasha flicked to the front of the book. There, occupying the first twenty pages, was an employment record.</p>
<p>‘So we’re the only ones working for Elias, then.’ She pointed out.</p>
<p>‘Dammit.’ Tim hissed.</p>
<p>Sasha put the book back on Jon’s desk, hoping it wasn’t obvious she was hoping to get away with something. She never did tell Tim and Martin exactly what she’d done to Naomi, and now they didn’t even recall her name.</p>
<p>‘So where next?’</p>
<p>‘Isn’t it obvious.’ Said Tim.</p>
<p>She raised an eyebrow.</p>
<p>‘If you tell me it’s the archives…’ Martin started. Then he sighed. ‘Of course it’s the archives.’</p>
<p>Tim flashed him a smile and offered a hand. Martin rolled his eyes and took Tim’s hand without hesitation. Sasha trailed behind, but together, they descended the steps into the archives. </p>
<p>The archives were almost exactly as Tim remembered leaving them. Worms carpeted every surface like a thick and putrid snowfall. He could see the disturbance that their footprints left, thick smears and skids scarring the almost pristine layer of filth in their escape. In the centre of the floor, there was an imprint in the soft, white layer. It struck Tim as looking like a dip in a mattress. He could still see where their scrabbling hands marred the outline Jon left in the debris.</p>
<p>And beyond that, he could see the collapsed wall on the far side of the room.</p>
<p>The rubble fell on either side of a jagged, vertical scar in the wall. It was wide, and tall, and beyond it lay darkness, and a petering sheet of dead worms.</p>
<p>‘Tempting, huh?’ Tim started. The three of them stared ahead into the opening. They’d seen the wall crumble, but they hadn’t stuck around to investigate as the building filled with carbon monoxide.</p>
<p>‘Looks like we’ve found the source of the infestation, then!’ Sasha said, brightly.</p>
<p>‘No, no look-’ Martin pointed. ‘They get thinner on the ground there, so they can’t have come that way.’</p>
<p>‘Then what?’</p>
<p>Cautiously, Tim walked towards the opening. He leaned in as far as he could, and felt cool, damp air on his face.</p>
<p>‘Guys,’ he looked over his shoulder. Martin and Sasha stood together, held back by their apprehension, but dying to satisfy their curiosity. Tim nodded them over.</p>
<p>‘Still can’t tell where they came from, but it looks like they were going somewhere.’</p>
<p>‘Where do <em> worms </em> go in a hurry?’ Sasha laughed, incredulous. But the three of them shared a look, and understood immediately that they wanted to find out.</p>
<p>Tim took a deep breath, and stepped out of the archives, into the unknown space beyond. He heard the footsteps behind him, and smiled.</p>
<p>‘How long do you think this goes on for?’ Martin asked.</p>
<p>Tim shrugged. ‘This place doesn’t really make sense…  the archives are underground, but surely we’d run into mains pipes by now.’</p>
<p>‘Oh don’t tell me we’re under the plumbing right now,’ Martin groaned.</p>
<p>‘I don’t know,’ Sasha wrinkled her nose. ‘Might explain the drip. And the smell.’</p>
<p>‘Oh that’s probably the worms.’ One popped under Tim’s foot, and he grimaced.</p>
<p>‘This is gross.’ Martin complained.</p>
<p>‘That’s a bit of a given, Martin.’ Tim sniped. Sasha stayed quiet.</p>
<p>The dim light of the archives soon narrowed to a pinprick in the distance. It was barely dark enough to see by. Tim realised that it wasn’t really possible to see in the dark, that Sasha and Martin were both sticking by him for direction. Every reminder that he was changing was a sore point, but if he could do this for them, then it was hardly the worst of it.</p>
<p>The worst of it was turning into someone who wouldn’t or couldn’t quit while he was ahead, while it was just Jon facing life long consequences. At least he’d live. It might not go so well next time.</p>
<p>The thought sat heavy with Tim, as he knew it did Sasha. Martin was inscrutable. It was impossible for Tim to know how he felt about what they’d done together. Or perhaps he didn’t feel much altogether.</p>
<p>Martin pulled his phone out of his pocket and switched on the torch. Tim winced at the light, and soon adjusted. </p>
<p>‘Can’t believe I forgot that until now,’ Martin laughed. ‘God I’m an idiot.’</p>
<p>‘Actually, you’re a genius for remembering.’ Tim corrected him, offering Martin a bright smile in the new pale glow.</p>
<p>‘Oh!’ Martin looked ahead, smiling into the gloom beyond the torch light. It was a good look on him.</p>
<p>‘Oh. Oh my god.’</p>
<p>Tim followed his gaze, and then he saw it too. Sasha was already staring, her eyes widening and brow furrowing.</p>
<p>The ring of worms on the dark wet floor stood out as a bright and glistening thing.</p>
<p>‘Do you think they came from that big circle or…’ Sasha began.</p>
<p>It was completely still. There was not a twitch or wriggle around the ring.</p>
<p>‘Or from Prentiss.’ She finished, identifying the figure lying at the centre of the ring.</p>
<p>Martin strained to get as close as possible without stepping over into the circle.</p>
<p>Tim, however, wasn’t so certain there was anything to fear. Experimentally, he kicked at the outline and broke the circle. Martin hissed at him, and leapt back, but Tim was right. There was no reaction from the dead worms, or from the dead body.</p>
<p>Tim grimaced. Obviously, she was dead. It still felt so wrong to be able to tell that from six feet away, just by looking at her. Normal people would take a pulse.</p>
<p>Normal people would die trying, Tim reasoned.</p>
<p>Instead, he started walking around the outside of the circle, trying to glean any more information.</p>
<p>‘So she’s definitely dead.’ He said.</p>
<p>Martin breathed a sigh of relief, but Sasha’s face fell.</p>
<p>‘What?’ Tim asked, the question out of his mouth before he could stop to rephrase.</p>
<p>‘Somebody died Tim, forgive me for not being thrilled. What do you want, a victory lap around the worm ring? I’m sorry, but she was a sick lady, and she came to the Institute for help back then, and whatever Gertrude did it didn’t help. And now we’re doing her job, and Tim, we’re turning into something. You think I want to be telling you this?’</p>
<p>Tim raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, but Sasha waved him off.</p>
<p>‘We’re turning into something just like her, and I know she tried to kill us, but I don’t think she could help it any more than you could help…. <em> Compelling </em>me just now. So I don’t really have it in me to be happy she’s dead.’</p>
<p>Tim took another look at the body. It was just a person’s body, just a person’s discarded shell. It was ridden with worms and holes and it was rotting. But everyone looked like that in the end, and it wasn’t like he knew her any other way.</p>
<p>‘She tried to get help? How did you know?’ Martin asked. Sasha sighed.</p>
<p>‘When you were ‘off on the sick’, me and Tim looked into the Corruption. Michael as good as told me that’s what was keeping you from work, so we looked into it. We found a statement by Prentiss, and yes. She wanted help. Apparently, Gertrude was happy to just… take her statement and let her on her way. She killed people in that hospital.’</p>
<p>Martin ran a hand through his hair and sighed, but Tim’s hackles raised.</p>
<p>‘For God’s sake that’s not Gertrude’s fault! She was like, in her late hundreds! What was she going to do? Stop her? How the hell would she do that! It’s not Gertrude’s fault that Prentiss… did what she did. What she chose to do.’</p>
<p>‘Did she choose, though?’ Sasha snapped back.</p>
<p>Martin looked between the two of them. ‘I’m sure it’s very complicated, but seeing her dead is at least reassuring.’</p>
<p>Sasha opened her mouth to argue, but for once, Martin cut in.</p>
<p>‘She stood outside my door for a week, and for that whole week, I thought I was about to die. It’s just personal. I’m not saying I’m right or wrong, I’m just… look, personally… I’m relieved.’</p>
<p>Sasha nodded, and looked around.</p>
<p>‘You know what? I’m… I’m going to have a look back at the archives. We all agree that this is where the worms were going, and we’re only looking for the source. See you guys later.’</p>
<p>Martin looked totally dismayed. He turned from Tim to Sasha, and froze between the two of them. ‘I- uh, Tim?’</p>
<p>Tim took a deep breath.</p>
<p>‘Martin, it’s fine. We just feel differently about this, and that’s okay, it literally doesn’t matter. We could probably all do with cooling off. Look, she’s probably even right, this definitely isn’t the source of the infestation, but it can’t hurt to check our bases. Let’s go.’</p>
<p>Reluctant to move deeper into the tunnels, but unwilling to walk alone, or worse, stay put, Martin decided to hurry alongside Tim. They staved off the silence with the sound of their feet hitting the rough wet ground, and with nothing else.</p>
<p>Time passed strangely, in the tunnels. It felt like an hour to Martin before Tim spoke again. </p>
<p>‘Almost nostalgic, really.’ Tim mused. The tension in Martin’s shoulders dropped a little.</p>
<p>‘Really?’</p>
<p>Tim nodded. ‘Yeah. Used to do stuff like this with Danny, back in the day.’</p>
<p>‘What, breaking into sewers or wherever it is we’re doing right now?’</p>
<p>Tim cracked a smile, a real one, and Martin had to look away.</p>
<p>‘Yes!’</p>
<p>Despite himself, Martin laughed too. ‘Was it… more fun than this?’</p>
<p>‘Well, I didn’t used to argue with Danny so… yeah. Well, that’s not true, we used to argue a tonne, but not usually over… moral responsibilities to worm women we didn’t meet until they were trying to kill us.’</p>
<p>Martin blinked. </p>
<p>‘Yeah, no, sorry, cooling off. I just think it’s stupid. Not Sasha, obviously, but just... There’s someone we actually hurt, and Sasha’s upset about the bitch responsible?’</p>
<p>Martin made a placating noise. But it sounded too indecisive. Or maybe Tim was just getting to know him. Or maybe Tim just knew too much for Martin to get away with appeasement.</p>
<p>‘What, Martin?’</p>
<p>Martin tried to resist, and found he could, easily. Then he answered.</p>
<p>‘Well, Jon would have died without our intervention. Like, it’s definitely not good! And it’s not like I’m happy it had to be us, but… well Elias told us straight, didn’t he? If we didn’t do it, the hospital couldn’t, and then he’d be stuck like Prentiss and… I mean, not even for Jon’s sake, that’s just too dangerous full stop. We did what we had to.’</p>
<p>Tim stopped in his tracks.</p>
<p>‘Um, sorry. It’s a bit harsh but-’</p>
<p>Tim gripped Martin. </p>
<p>‘Ow, Tim, cut it out that-’</p>
<p>With the other hand, Tim pointed a finger into the storage cupboard to their left. The tremors ran all the way up his arm, he was shaking so obviously. He seemed rooted to the spot, but the door was open, and Martin could see inside. Martin turned to look in, peering into the gloom, until he finally saw what Tim was pointing out to him.</p>
<p>‘Huh- OH!’</p>
<p>Martin sprang back, the corkscrew came readily to his hand, as if the assailant was still there, waiting behind one of the bloody storage boxes to jump out and finish off another archivist.</p>
<p>‘That’s… that’s Gertrude.’ Said Tim. The words were lame in his dry mouth.</p>
<p>She was dead. Tim didn’t need more than the two eyes in his skull to see that. The gunshot wounds were quite enough to confirm the fact. She was slumped against the back wall of the little storage cupboard, surrounded by boxes and tapes and the mundanities of their lives at the Magnus Institute. They were covered in blood. It had dried months ago.</p>
<p>Tim could hear his ears ringing. Martin paced behind him, muttering and shuddering in all his breaths. Tim stayed exactly where he was.</p>
<p>It would almost have been nice if her features had something disdainful to them, if her parted mouth could have a smirk playing around there, if her half open eyes were heavy lidded and unamused. But they were not, and she looked nothing more than an old, dead woman. Gertrude’s corpse was a world away from the rotting body of Prentiss, who looked unchanged by death.</p>
<p>Martin and Tim were running together without asking or questioning or speaking. They ran, and ran, and ran until they were in the light and in the archives.</p>
<p>Tim realised he was holding Martin’s hand when he collapsed onto him. He held him tight, and his knees gave way beneath him.</p>
<p>Martin rubbed his back and gently slid them down the wall he was leaning against.</p>
<p>‘That was Gertrude.’ Tim repeated again. He felt Martin nod, his chin hit the top of Tim’s head. With his face pressed hard against Martin’s chest, he could hear his heart hammer away. He was getting Martin’s t-shirt wet. He was crying. He held onto Martin’s shoulders.</p>
<p>‘She was murdered.’</p>
<p>Martin didn’t say anything. Tim went on.</p>
<p>‘Someone shot her. And hid her body. Ages ago. Before… oh my god, before I <em> replaced </em>her.’</p>
<p>Martin went rigid.</p>
<p>‘Shit. Tim, shit.’</p>
<p>Tim pulled back to look at Martin in the eyes. He was drawn, and he held onto Tim like he might slip through his fingers.</p>
<p>‘Martin, someone wanted her dead. You don’t think it's… you don’t think it’s to do with… work? Do you?’</p>
<p>Martin engulfed him in a hug close enough to chase out doubt.</p>
<p>‘We’ll find out who did it, Tim. And when we do, we’ll just ask them. Yeah?’</p>
<p>Tim didn’t respond. Martin could still feel him trembling, and he hated it. He wanted to help, and he wasn’t sure if he was.</p>
<p>‘Yeah?’ He prompted again, a little softer, a little less conviction, a little more convincing.</p>
<p>Tim sniffed. ‘Yeah.’</p>
<p>‘Where’s Sasha?’ He asked. Martin shrugged. Tim extracted himself from the floor. </p>
<p>‘She said she was coming back to investigate the archives.’</p>
<p>Martin looked up at him. ‘Maybe she’s gone out for some air.’</p>
<p>Tim offered him a hand, and helped him up.</p>
<p>‘Come on, let’s go. We’ve got to… we’ve got to be a team on this. I really, really need us all to pull together.’ Martin pulled Tim back into his side, and they walked in step.</p>
<p>‘Course.’ Martin said it with strength, and Tim believed him. ‘Course we will. Right, I bet I know where Sasha is.’</p>
<p>They turned a corner, and then another, and Tim took stock of all the familiar rows of paper documents. One called to him from the shelf. It was about a group of friends who turned on each other, chasing each other through the streets and killing with glee indescribable, at least by the single survivor who shared the story with their humble little archive.</p>
<p>Tim turned away. He looked at the carpet, and at his trainers and Martin’s loafers and the steady rhythm of shoes on blue carpet, littered with worms and free of blood.</p>
<p>He felt fresh air on his face. He looked up.</p>
<p>Sasha was there, on the fire escape, lit cigarette in her mouth, mid drag.</p>
<p>Slowly she drew it away from her, and breathed the smoke out through her nose.</p>
<p>‘Guess you caught me.’</p>
<p>Tim took a long, deep breath.</p>
<p>‘Oh it really isn’t the worst thing I could be doing out here. I only popped off for a minute, please don’t tell me you’re taking Elias’ idea of sick leave this seriously.’</p>
<p>‘Sasha,’ Martin pleaded.</p>
<p>‘What… what did you find down there?’ She asked, finally seeing the look of horror on Tim’s face for what it was.</p>
<p>‘We found Gertrude. She… she was shot dead.’</p>
<p>Sasha dropped the cigarette.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Going Under</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>CW: difficult medical recovery, chronic pain, internalised negativity, negative self talk, self-blame, gaslighting, coercion, disassociation, unreality, summary in end notes!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jon opened his eyes at six am every morning, when Elias woke up. From the other side of the double bed, Jon felt the mattress dip and shift, and heard the door close. And that was when Jon could breathe out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon could not sleep next to Elias. His rest was in fits, his body was in bits, and he needed more room in the bed if he wanted any chance of actually sleeping rather than shutting his eyes and hoping for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he couldn’t kick Elias out of his own bed. And by the time Jon was up and alert and dressed and ready, the day was always dragging to its inevitable conclusion in Elias’ bed, with Elias, and not enough room and the promise to leave the next day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So at six am, Jon untensed and slept, failing to wake until the late afternoon. By then, it was already too late to make anything of the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias left Jon mostly to his own devices.  He’d tried to explain at some point in the week that he’d lived alone for close to a decade, and Elias had understood. It seemed he knew how to navigate Jon’s introversion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, while Elias’ apartment was beautiful, it was still small. The kitchen and the living room were the same room, open plan. The bathroom was en-suite. The balcony was in the bedroom. Only Elias’ study was separated off, and even though he spent most of his time there, Jon could be sure to run into Elias almost every time he moved from one room to another.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Jon missed his own apartment. It was small, much smaller than Elias’ but it was his and his alone, and that little factor made a mansion of his tiny flat. He could go back, Elias offered to give him a lift back every single day, but it was always too late, and Jon could never get it together, and he slept through the day and closed his eyes through the night, every second pressing down on him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon woke up at six am, when Elias got out of bed. Elias knew he was awake, and whispered a good morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon clung to pretending to be asleep. He needed to talk to Elias, today, about this relationship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t want to lose him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon fell instantly into his deep sleep. He was getting used to falling asleep as the day started to break.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon made a coffee at midday. He’d taken it step by step. First step was getting out of bed. He prised his body from the soft mattress, and pushed himself upright. With two feet firmly on the floor, Jon grasped his cane and stood up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The effort left him panting. He had to do this more to get stronger. It hurt. Knowing he had to do it did not absolve him of the pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias’ open plan apartment came with significant advantages for Jon’s mobility issues. It was a straight line from the bedroom to the kitchen, from bed to coffee. A three second walk might take a few minutes, but it was a straight line.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Elias kept the place so meticulously tidy, there wasn’t a tripping hazard in sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon reached for the counter, and placed both hands on it for support, leaving his quad-based cane where it stood. He wasn’t used to it. It was easier to use furniture for support, but he felt guilty when he didn’t use the cane. It was free, and it was meant to help, so he wanted to use it. But he could not deny that it did not come naturally to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He caught his breath, and with one hand still bracing him against the countertop, Jon put the kettle on. Still holding onto the counter, he walked to the cupboard, retrieved the coffee and a clean white mug, tipped the coffee into the mug and considered throwing it out of the window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’d be nice to see the glass shatter, or the mug shatter, or just to see something break into a thousand pieces. Something else, at least.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he held it together. This wasn’t his house. It was not his home. The weight of that understanding kept Jon from screaming in frustration and upturning the breakfast bar in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The weight of courtesy kept Jon in his place, and he went to the cupboard for some cereal. He put the boiled water on the instant coffee, he put the milk on the cereal and the spoon in the bowl and once again, he resisted the impulse to swipe it all off the smooth surface, disturbing all that was pristine in this flat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took the medicine from its place next to the kettle, and took the pills with his coffee. He took breakfast to the sofa and put on the TV. Elias floated through the living room, and went back to his study with tea. It took him seconds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon sank into the sofa, curled up with a blanket, and let whatever was on telly play out. The blanket was soft and heavy against him, and the night was already drawing in, pushing him deeper into the sofa and the gentle plot of whatever he was following with glazed eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He woke up on the sofa at six am. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The change in the day jolted him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Elias?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Morning! Sorry, you were just too peaceful to move. Did you sleep okay? That probably wasn’t good for-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Jon’s voice was clipped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re up early, would you like breakfast?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon thought about it. ‘Yes please.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to take his medicine three times a day, and he had to take his medicine with a meal. But spending most of his day asleep did not help him to fit three meals into a day, and Jon was fairly sure that he only slept so much because he could not keep up with his prescription. Recovery and health danced a little further out of reach, even as Jon crawled along after it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This could be the start of recovery though. If he could seize this opportunity and start getting himself together, Jon might be able to take back some control of his life. He knew what else he needed to do, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Elias, I want to go back to my flat today.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sure, what do you need picking up?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon looked at him, and tried to figure out how to put it into the softer words everyone else knew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh.’ Elias realised. Jon looked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s just… I need my space. I really cannot thank you enough for everything, this has been lovely, but-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias just smiled at him, as if Jon hadn’t watched his face fall and looked away to spare himself the sight. ‘Just tell me when you’re ready.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon tried to make himself ready. Elias gave him a plastic carrier bag for everything he wanted to take with him. The contents included the change of clothes Elias brought for him in the hospital, the pyjamas Elias leant him, and his medicine. Slowly, as if wading through the air around them, Jon and Elias made it to the residential parking and into Elias’ car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Riding in the passenger seat always lulled Jon into a sleepy trance. He stared out of the window and listened to the hum of the engine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon?’ Elias asked him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Mm?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Will I… see you again?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well I’m off sick leave in a week, so-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What are we?’ Elias’ voice hitched. Jon opened his eyes and looked at him. Of course, Elias kept his eyes fixed on the road.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I… um, I- I don’t really know what this is. I’ve never… had… this, not exactly.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a second, Elias looked at Jon and smiled. ‘For the record, I’ve never started a relationship like this, either.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘A… a relationship. I think we can call it that, for now.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias nodded. ‘I just wanted to make sure this wasn’t a break up.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Elias, I like you, I just need more time. I know, I’m that introverted.’ Jon laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, I completely understand. I know the type.’ He smirked at Jon, and it was like a weight had been lifted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made sense. While Jon had needed someone to look out for him, it was early days to move in with Elias. That sort of whirlwind romance had always seemed ill-conceived to Jon. Just poorly thought out, and however slow Jon’s thought process had become, Jon was not stupid. He needed time as much as space, and moving back into his own flat would give him both. Time, space, and maybe even a little perspective.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stopped outside Jon’s block of flats, and Jon took Elias’ hand as easily as someone who’d been helped out of cars for years. It would be glamorous, if his cane didn’t clatter to the pavement, and that would be funny, if Jon could not pick it up himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias would be dashing, when he handed Jon his cane, if Jon didn’t need him to do it for him. Instead, Jon burned inside and snatched the cane. Jon would stride off in a huff, if he didn’t have to link arms with Elias and struggle up the stairs to his flat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s hands trembled as he tried to put the key in the lock and open the door. Doing this in front of someone was torture, and he just wanted to snap and demand Elias to go away. Jon took deep breaths, and willed the key into the lock</span>
  <em>
    <span> this</span>
  </em>
  <span> time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What the hell is my problem?’ He hissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I think that’s the nerve damage.’ Elias supplied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Helpful.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Would you like me to-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, thank you, it’s my house, and I should be able to- ah, perfect.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stepped in, and Jon sat on the bed. Elias hovered over him, visibly fretting. Jon beckoned him over, and kissed him, hard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I will be fine, Elias. I’m a grown adult, and I’m on the mend.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias nodded. ‘I know, I know. Just call me-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I promise you, I will call you if I so much as think of needing something.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amused, Elias stepped back and smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Make sure you do.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he was gone and Jon was an independent adult living on his own again. He sighed in relief and felt guilty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Guilty and exhausted. He gave into the temptation to lie back on his bed, and luxuriated in the comfort. It felt good to be home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closed his eyes, and let himself get swept away into that undercurrent pulling at him from the moment he woke to the moment he gave in to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was not the first drop that woke him. Several fat drops of water landed and splattered on Jon’s face before he woke up. Another hit him right between the eyes and he blinked it away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lifted his arms to swipe the water away, and found that he could not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could not lift a finger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another drop of water landed on his face. He shivered, and watched the ceiling. A wet patch spread across the ceiling, widening incrementally. The plaster was turning a threatening grey. It would cave in, soon, and Jon could not move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tensed and pulled and felt the impulses shoot through his body but it was like straining against a barrier. It was like he was held down. He had felt like this before, and he gasped, willing himself to thrash. Just like then, his body was as relaxed and still as a corpse’s, as his mind was in turmoil.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dread raced through him, and he stared with wide eyes at the spot in the ceiling, knowing he had minutes at most before it came down and flattened everything he was, before the room above him obliterated his home, with him inside it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The drops of water were falling in earnest now, and Jon saw that the damp spot had become sodden, and it engulfed most of the ceiling. It wouldn’t take long, and Jon did not trust his limbs to get him out of bed, never mind out of the front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached for his phone. He’d need an ambulance in just a few short minutes. The beams holding his ceiling up groaned heavily, exhausted, and Jon counted out his remaining seconds. His fingertips found the smooth surface of his phone, and could do no more than touch it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His chest rose, fell, and then at last the dam above him burst. For an instant, Jon saw the crack in his ceiling open out and onto him like a blossom, and saw into the life of the person above him through the lattice of plumbing and infrastructure. A television, a red leather sofa, and plastic wooden flooring all hovered above him before it all came crashing down in the landslide.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Jon screamed and screwed his eyes tight as freezing water and heavy debris bore down on him. Pipes and beams came squealing through from above, and skewered his home. The sound of the implosion was deafening, and Jon cried out before he was smothered by the rubble.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heaved in and out, but he could not catch his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Help!’ He tried. He had neighbours. He knew they were there. The sound alone would alert them. His leg was trapped and cut, and something heavy lay across his chest. He writhed, but the heaviness on top of him only sank in further. His bedframe snapped, and with an excruciating jolt, Jon dropped a foot. His heart swooped. He was hyperventilating, and his breaths were getting shorter as the beam pressing on his chest pressed in deeper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel the vibrations in the floor, feel how he was sinking infinitesimally, and he heard the moan in the floor. It would only be so long before he would hurtle through his floor into the flat below. He prayed they were out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon started to suffocate. It was dark under the wreckage of another life, trapped in the ruins of his own; its heaviness was agony, and he could not draw breath. He twisted and squirmed beneath it, but like a pair of hands pushing him down, Jon was pinned in place and crushed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Jon cried, tears and flood water and blood all smeared on the plaster and rubble as it choked the life out of him. Jon tried kicking out one last time, little more than a spasm, and then he stilled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Until there was a knock on the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon? Jon?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon still couldn’t breathe, but he flailed in his sheets and fell from the bed onto the floor. The door swung open and Jon scrambled to look around, amazed to find he could do so unimpeded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias was standing in the doorway. He looked terrified.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What?’ Jon snapped, tangled in his bedsheet, soaked through and covered in plaster. He did not understand the fury coursing through him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon swept his eyes around his flat. There was a drip coming through the ceiling and it landed in a puddle on the floor. The ceiling was otherwise intact. Everything else was intact except him, and Jon was enraged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon… what happened?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘There was a burst pipe, and I tried to fix it and then I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> what happened.’ Jon recalled, instantly. </span>
  <span>‘Why are you here? How did you know-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You called.’ Elias’ voice was small, and nervous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon snorted with indignation. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised you were here if I called. So-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias went pale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon, you called me about thirty times.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon laughed out loud. Then he stopped abruptly, seeing Elias’ growing horror. Without a word, Elias unlocked his phone, and passed it to Jon. His call history was there.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Jon &lt;3 </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>32 Missed Calls</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>‘Obviously I picked up the first few, but all I could hear was… I don’t know what I heard. And you left some voicemail I just don’t know what to make of.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon narrowed his eyes. ‘What do you mean?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Play it, if you like.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded, feeling defensive. He opened voicemail and saw that there were 32 voicemails to choose from. The most recent was from 14:38, only two minutes ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He froze when he heard the crying. It was a ragged, breathless sound. The stifled sobs were almost indistinguishable from coughs, but the pattern of a rising, shaking breath and hiccuping exhale was unmistakable. As was the whispered, agonized message.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Elias… help me. Please, please, save me. Elias….’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Jon’s voice. Jon’s hoarse, pleading voice, begging for Elias. It was a minute long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon had not been crying a minute ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But if he touched his cheek, it was wet, and when he spoke, his voice was rough. He could not prove anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He passed the phone back like it disgusted him. He opened his own phone, and to his dismay, saw 36 outgoing calls to Elias.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why the hell wouldn’t I call an ambulance?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite himself, Elias laughed, and Jon rolled his eyes. He was shaking. But he had tremors now. Shaking didn’t mean anything. It didn’t prove anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I… I think I tried to take a look at the leak, and I had a seizure again, or I passed out, or- you know, I don’t even know the difference any more.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tears were hot and angry against his cold wet face. He buried his head in his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I was fine for two weeks, two whole weeks, and the second-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His throat closed around the lump there, and his lip curled bitterly. Elias sat down to console him, but Jon shrugged him off. Then he collapsed into him, and held on for dear life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I just don’t understand what’s wrong with me. Why is this happening to me?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias couldn’t console him, only sit with him and watch while Jon processed what he needed to and discarded what he could not. Holding Jon close, Elias looked around the room without inhibition. Nothing looked wrong, but Elias knew better than that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dirt clinging to Jon’s hair and streaking his cheeks was not plaster. The damp smell in the apartment was not from a burst pipe from the apartment above. Petrichor, and the smell of freshly turned earth were the only obvious signs of the Buried. Elias was glad it hadn’t made a claim on Jon in Elias’ home, that would be disrespectful and the smell would grate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias reminded himself how beneficial this was to his plan. Encounters with the Buried tended to leave a person difficult to retrieve, so finding Jon with a new mark exactly where he left him was more than Elias could hope for.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if Jon felt so desperately trapped around Elias that he drew the attention of The Forever Deep Below Creation, it would explain the spring in his own step. Elias could swear the dark circles under his eyes had evaporated on contact with Jon and all the anxiety he held without even knowing what he feared. No wonder the Buried had taken an interest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, Elias hypothesised, it was possible that the fears for his health and the clarifying picture of what recovery might look like for him had left Jon crushed. The combination could be powerful enough to serve the Buried, but Elias wanted to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he refrained from prying. There’d be plenty of time to find out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon would have to move back in with Elias. They both knew there wasn’t anywhere for him to go, at least while he called a builder for his unstable ceiling. And Elias knew that if the Buried took a shine to this site, then there wasn’t a builder in Britain who could keep that ceiling from leaking and threatening to cave in. That ceiling would dip a little lower every day, and Jon may never see it again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But that was for Elias to know, and Jon to find out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After changing out of his sodden clothes, Jon and Elias headed back out to the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘For the record,’ Jon started. ‘How long was I at home-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘An hour and a half.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s a forty minute drive, at best,’ Jon started to protest, realising Elias had barely sat down before he came back. For Jon. Who yelled at him the second he stepped through the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m- I’m really sorry I snapped at you then. I’m just so frustrated about… what I’m like now. I just want to get better </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but it doesn’t feel like I’m moving forward at all. Feels like I’m just stuck, and I want to go back to work, and just go back to how I was. Thought if I could just move back into my place and take things slow with you, then I’d at least feel better, and that might… help. Does that make sense?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Of course it does, and apology accepted. We’ll have builder out in no time, things will be back on track within the week.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon offered him a tired smile. Elias returned it easily. It wasn’t often you found someone who gave up the knowledge you craved as soon as you thought to want it. They got in the car, and Elias drove back towards the South Bank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s phone rang, and he startled. Then winced, the sudden movement clearly doing him no favours.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He answered in the car, staring at Elias like he wanted him to be elsewhere. Elias smiled fondly. Peter looked at him that way so often, it almost hurt. Peter liked to be missed, though, so he looked away from Jon and refused to think of him and instead followed Jon’s conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Georgie! Hi-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias could make out what the woman on the other side of the phone was saying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And where the hell have you been, then?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I- I’m sorry?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You should be. You stood me up.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias’ ears pricked. This was interesting. He didn’t think Jon was up to much cheating with the state he was in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘W-what?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias smirked. Jon was clearly of the same mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks now, Jon, and you finally pick up now. Where’ve you been?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hospital? I was in the hospital for a little while, and then I was staying at… at my… I was staying with someone because… well, I’m not exactly independently mobile at the moment.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh. Are you better now?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No?’ Jon laughed, sharp enough to cut. ‘Not really? Thanks for asking though, Georgie.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Like I say, I’ve been calling for weeks.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, my phone has been somewhat </span>
  <em>
    <span>unreliable</span>
  </em>
  <span> as of late.’ He hissed. Elias liked the sound of Jon’s voice when it was raised. Disappointingly, he softened it by way of apology. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Maybe… maybe the signal hasn’t been great where I’ve been staying.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Cool.’ The woman deadpanned. ‘Jon, do you want this cat or not? There’s someone coming around at five who actually wants her, and we’ve kept her back for weeks, for you, so it’s your last chance.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What? Georgie? I was in surgery on that Sunday-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You could have let me know-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It wasn’t routine! I was in an accident.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh. Oh, I see. Jon, I’m so sorry. Look, just I thought you’d just had cold feet about the cat and all. You can still have her if you get here first!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon opened his mouth, but Elias was shaking his head. He mouthed ‘no,’ and without thinking, Jon was already letting Georgie down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry, Georgie, but I’m not sure I’m in the best place to-.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Georgie sighed down the line. ‘Jon, if you want her, stop being a martyr and take the cat. She’s pretty low energy for a kitten, and honestly she’d probably do you some good. Bit of company, and cats are really healing.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tiny smile broke through, and Elias almost felt bad putting a stop to this before it went too far. He kept a straight face and shook his head again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hang on, can I put you on hold?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh? Yeah sure, but if you want her then it’s going to have to be before five…’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Thanks Georgie, I’ll be a second.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon, you cannot have a cat.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why not?’ Jon bristled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Because it’d have to come back to mine, and I can’t stand cats. And I’d have to drive you there. Even if we did get it before you snatched it off this other person who clearly wants it, you can’t have it back at yours until the ceiling’s fixed, and then I’d have to look after it for you until then. I’m sorry, Jon, the timing’s just all off for it. You can have another cat when there’s space in your life for one.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You can’t stand cats?’ Jon sounded dazed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Just not really a pet person.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stared at Elias as he pressed the button on his phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Georgie. Um, I’ve spoken to… look, the situation’s a bit messy because there’s a burst pipe in my own apartment, so I’m moving in with my boyfriend until it’s fixed, and I can’t ask him to turn around and drive somewhere else, he’s been driving around after me all day, and I couldn’t look after a cat anyway, it’s- it’s bad. Couldn’t ask him to look after the both of us, it wouldn’t be fair.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘O-oh. Jon, I just really didn’t think you’d say that.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry, Georgie.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, I’ll be in the good book’s with Mel’s aunt, at least.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, definitely.’ He sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You said things are messy at the moment. Sounds like your life’s been turned upside down.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Got that right.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘At least you’re in love, though!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s laugh was breathless, close to hysteria. He looked Elias up and down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s early days!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You sound excited though. How early?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘About two weeks?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And you’re moving in together?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes? Just for now, until my apartment’s-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias looked across at Jon, and took in the way he leaned into the phone, and stared out of the window. He looked uncertain, like whatever this Georgie might say could hold some sway. Like he wasn’t quite sure how he felt, and wanted to take a litmus test from someone else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That’s really romantic, Jon! No wonder you don’t need the cat!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed, and his shoulders dropped away from his ears now that he wasn’t expecting the judgement he may have been anticipating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It is, isn’t it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes! Go, make it work! And stay in touch, please?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed lightly, and behind him, Elias could see the driving rain sneak in through the car window. He supposed he’d have to deal with these lingering effects of the marks left on his… boyfriend.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this one is grim! summary: Jon now lives with Elias, and he's miserable. He wants his own space to sleep at night and recover alone, but he sleeps poorly at night and sleeps through the day while Elias works away on his own. Jon finally moves back into his own flat, but there, he is marked by the buried when he perceives the ceiling caving in and crushing him. Elias returns to the flat and 'saves' him, and points out that Jon's suffocating relationship and crushed hopes for a simple recovery have attracted the buried to him. In the ride back to Elias', Georgie calls up Jon and asks if he still wants the cat she offered him a few chapters ago, but Elias convinces Jon that he wouldn't be able to look after it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Culprit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>cw; smoking, recovery, workplace ableism</p><p> </p><p>Shout out to sanggguine for her help and expertise with this chapter particularly, but throughout the series! I couldn't do it without you!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The card on Jon’s desk was a gaudy thing. The words ‘Get Well Soon’ glittered. It stood proudly, beside a decorated cardboard bag with a tag tied around the handle labelled ‘Jon.’</p><p>Jon stood in front of his desk and stared at these offerings on it like he wasn’t sure what they were. Gingerly, he looked around for a culprit. He suspected Elias, as no one else should be in the Institute this early, but dismissed him. Jon had stayed at Elias’ for the remainder of his sick leave, and now would be a strange time for these well wishes. And the bouquet of flowers in the hospital had more than sufficed, at the time.</p><p>Unless, Jon reasoned, this was part of Elias’ ruse to keep their colleagues from guessing at their new relationship. They were both keen to avoid office drama and the pressure of ‘making it a thing,’ and Jon had even enjoyed taking the tube alone at last. But Jon was not looking forward to seeing Elias and pretending they were not… what they were. And if he was responsible for this display of affection, Jon wanted a word.</p><p>Grudgingly, Jon took the card and opened it, confirming… that it was not Elias’ doing. </p><p>Jon paused, and re-examined the front of the card. The sparkling phrase on the front, ‘Get Well Soon’, left a trace of bright green glitter on his fingertips. Inside, the card was plain, and the handwritten message was original.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hi Jon!</p><p>We’re thinking of you! Hope you’re recovering well and taking care of yourself!</p><p>-Tim, Martin, Sasha’</p><p> </p><p>There were other names, too, Jon recognised a few from the library, the few he’d chatted to and added on Facebook when he’d first joined the Institute. He smiled at the sight, it reminded him of something from high school, like names scribbled on a shirt on the last day. </p><p>He read the message over, and over again, eyes skipping over one segment. </p><p>‘We’re thinking of you!’</p><p>
  <em> How? </em>
</p><p>He didn’t know how anyone knew he was unwell. No one had seen him since the Institute became infested, and then it had been closed until the week before. He hadn’t thought it was that strange to take an extra week off. He was so sure it wouldn’t reflect on him at all.</p><p>He looked at the card one last time. Their well wishes took on the shade of judgement. ‘Yourself’ stood out. Why emphasise that? Did they know he had someone to look after him? Did they know he needed someone to? Did they know how desperately he resented that fact, and how he hated to resent someone who was nothing but kind and helpful?</p><p>He looked up and around. He was still alone in reception, and breathed out. Then he sat at his desk, and busied himself with tidying his cane behind the desk, and putting the card away for further inspection later. </p><p>The giftbag snagged his attention, being shiny and sparkling that same bright green as the lettering on the card. The effort someone had gone to frankly unnerved Jon. He didn’t like to be the centre of attention; in his experience, it was not a place he belonged.</p><p>Still, he reached into the bag, curious. Jon set it aside on the desk, and looked at the present. The poetry book was lushly decorated, an anthology, and a brief flick through the pages told him he hadn’t encountered all the poets before. Against his suspicion, and his prejudice against poetry, he could see himself at least dipping into the book a few times.</p><p>Jon noticed the bag was not empty. He reached back in, and discovered an object made of that velvety plush the cushions in his office were made of, it was soft, and it fit in one hand. He squeezed, and felt the give in it. He lifted it out of the bag, and saw the microwavable heat pad for what it was immediately after recognising that it was shaped like a cat. </p><p>He turned it over in his hand, appreciating the little face printed on the front, the four paws printed on the underside, the pointy ears sticking up. Jon pursed his lips. It was so cute. </p><p>The heating pad was tabby. It matched the cat on his lockscreen.</p><p>Jon recoiled, anxiety spiked, his vision tunneled on the innocuous toy, and he could feel his heart in his chest as he became certain he was being watched.</p><p>‘Morning Jon!’</p><p>Jon jumped, a hiss of pain escaping from between his clenched teeth. </p><p>‘Tim.’ He acknowledged. He looked up and saw the three archivists. He did not know when they arrived, how much they’d observed, how much they’d already seen.</p><p>‘So… do you like the gifts?’</p><p>Martin and Sasha watched Jon with uncontained anticipation, while Tim leaned on his desk and attempted to look nonchalant.</p><p>Jon sighed.</p><p>‘I take it the three of you are responsible for… this.’ Jon gestured at the poetry, heat pad, and the card. The sleeve of his jumper slid up to his forearm, exposing a thick, dark scab. Self conscious, Jon pulled his sleeve back down to his wrist, the look in his eye challenging anyone to mention it.</p><p>‘Yeah, that’s on us.’ Tim answered, a little more somber than Jon was accustomed to.</p><p>‘Right. So, whose is whose?’ Jon asked, eager to move on, or back to what was speakable.</p><p>‘Oh!’ Martin started. ‘I got you the poetry book! I don’t want to bias you, but I always go back to this anthology whenever I need a pick me up!’</p><p>Jon raised an eyebrow, but he couldn’t quite repress his smile. ‘Is that so?’</p><p>Martin, so earnest, nodded. ‘Especially Edmund Cooke, the poem of his they put in that book is just.. I don’t know, it really speaks to me! But don’t let my opinions influence you, or anything like that, they’re all… well obviously I think they’re all good, but… well, um,’</p><p>Jon snorted. ‘I assure you, Martin, you’re not influencing me. I will be practicing my right to make up my own mind, thank you. But thank you for the place to start. And this?’</p><p>He held up the heat pad with a contempt he simply could not muster. The printed little face looked at Tim imploringly. Jon’s eyebrow was arched, his expression was disdainful, but the smile playing about his face could not be denied.</p><p>‘Yup, that one’s me. Look, chronic pain is just… the worst, and I know that heat can be really good for these sorts of things, so just… what I’m trying to say is we’re just really sorry, and you need to look after yourself, and we’re here if you do want to talk, okay?’</p><p>Jon was reeling. It was too much. Their sympathy was overwhelming.</p><p>Sasha looked away, kicking the toe of her boot against the hardwood floor. It was reassuring to see someone else as uncomfortable with the sweetness Tim was offering. Typically, he deflected to snark.</p><p>‘Why’s it a cat? Does that have a medicinal benefit too?’</p><p>Tim snorted. ‘Absolutely. It was of the highest importance that it was a cat. Wouldn’t work otherwise.’</p><p>‘I see. Well, thank you for this… gesture. It was very nice of the three of you. I’ll just sign you  in now-’</p><p>Quick as a flash, Sasha slapped something down on Jon’s desk. The suddenness made him flinch, but he covered it by remaining absolutely still. He looked up at her, and her face was inscrutable. Slowly, he looked from her, and her hardset mouth and dark expression, back at the desk. A packet of cigarettes, his brand.</p><p>‘Take them. I know you smoke, I’ve seen you in the courtyard, so don’t try saying you don’t.’</p><p>He nodded. In the moment, he wasn’t sure he’d dream of lying to her. He looked back up at her, and she bit her lip, hard. Tim elbowed her, but whether he was encouraging her or trying to put a stop to it, Jon couldn’t tell. He watched as Sasha drew herself back up to her full height, and stepped away, seeming to give up on what she had to say.</p><p>Jon opened his mouth to ask her, but then she interrupted him in a hurried rush, half turned away.</p><p>‘I’m sorry, really I am. I know you don’t want to talk about it, and that’s fine, you don’t have to, especially not with us. But I’m sorry it all worked out like this for you, and I really hope you’re getting better.’</p><p>Bemused, Jon looked between Tim and Martin for some sort of answer. Unfortunately, Tim’s slack jaw and Martin’s red face did little to help Jon understand what she meant. She stalked away to the archives, hot-faced and trying to hide the fact.</p><p>‘Look, Jon, mind signing us in later? Or without us?’</p><p>‘Please, go ahead.’</p><p>‘Fab,’ replied Tim, absently, already following after Sasha. Martin made an apologetic noise that Jon did not dignify, and he trailed after Tim, leaving Jon staring at his computer.</p><p> </p><p>Look</p><p> </p><p>Prompted his computer screen saver. The presents, however, remained inscrutable, as did the archivists disappearing down the stairs.</p><p>Actually, there was one he understood perfectly well. The packet of cigarettes was the only thing on that desk that looked like they could be his, and he pocketed them. He hadn’t smoked since he’d come out of hospital. Elias didn’t smoke and Jon was loath to ask him to pick them up from the shop when he’d promised he was quitting. </p><p>There was no doubt about giving in to craving now, though. But he’d hold out until lunch, he was at work.</p><p>The morning passed without incident, and left Jon drained and exhausted and tetchy. </p><p>Subjects filtered in, Jon quickly discovered he couldn’t do things like he used to. For one, it was best for all concerned that he stay sitting. He stayed in his swivel chair, signed in names, dates, and times, and issued keycards. He pointed subjects into his office, they waited for a researcher to come and record their statement, or they accepted one of the forms Jon passed them, and they left, relieved of their knowledge, no closer to understanding than when they’d walked in. </p><p>Jon couldn’t go making tea for anyone anymore. The kettle was in the breakroom, and walking was just too much of a drag when every step hurt.</p><p>And everyone looked at his eye. The raised scab just under his lower lashline absorbed the attention of everyone who looked at him. It was the only visible injury, other than the smaller, near invisible pits dotted around his face. The rest of the surgery wounds were hidden under collared shirts and long sleeved jumpers and full length tapered trousers. The scab on his face would eventually fall away and leave behind whatever scar it would, and Jon’s face would be a point of intrigue forevermore.</p><p>Jon had stared in the mirror, once, and now he could recognise the startled expression and creeping revulsion in the faces of strangers.</p><p>Perhaps something of his own expression repressed any questions, though. He took down names and times and issued the key cards and pointed subjects into the office and called up the research department. They were nice to him now. He hated it. Ill concealed frustration putrefied into insipid sympathy, and Jon wanted to get up and shake them, tell them <em> ‘I’m still the same asshole who rang up to tell you to do your jobs!’ </em> and <em> ‘I do not need you to smile at me or speak to me like I am a child!’ </em> and have them believe him. He wanted to believe it himself.</p><p>So Jon returned bland, encouraging smiles with pointed stares and tight-lipped frowns, and wondered how long it would take the hapless researchers to realise that he did not need to be infantilised.</p><p>It might take a while. They didn’t stick around reception long enough to hear him out. There was one very simple factor, but if Jon hadn’t heard them complaining under the breaths, he would never have guessed. It was cold in reception. Absolutely freezing. </p><p>There was a draught that followed and chilled the skin and didn’t let go. As his colleagues walked through reception, Jon noticed those with jackets and cardigans pulled them closer, those without them crossed their arms, and no one lingered for longer than they had to. And Jon couldn’t feel it. He was far too scared to admit that he could not feel this cold, to accept one more difference between himself and everyone else, to really understand exactly how numb he had become. So he vowed to dress for the cold tomorrow.</p><p>It was twenty minutes until lunch when Tim flitted through reception. Jon beckoned him over, and Tim sauntered to the front desk.</p><p>‘Do me a favour, and get this to work?’ Jon asked, gesturing with the microwavable heating pad. </p><p>‘On it, boss!’ Tim teased, and Jon chucked the toy at Tim. He caught effortlessly, and Jon rolled his eyes, but he was grateful. Tim wasn’t treating him like he was stupid, he was just being the ordinary sort of stupid he always was. And he didn’t make Jon explain why he didn’t just do it himself. Tim was alright, in Jon’s books. Mostly.</p><p>He smiled to himself grudgingly. His hip was really starting to sting, and however he sat in the computer chair it felt like all the weight was on that one little centre of pain. One of fourteen, anyway. If it was a cat shaped heating pad that helped, he’d take it.</p><p>It was thirteen minutes until lunch when the cops showed up.</p><p>Jon tensed up, because the way they tore through the hall without stopping to look at him set him on edge. A few subjects milling about reception, waiting for the office room to become free, stopped their quiet chatter and looked up at them. They didn’t stop, but as the first cop strode across the hall, he caught her cold, dark brown eyes. Her lip curled, and she flashed her badge as she tried to open the door immediately ahead of her.</p><p>‘You need a keycard to get through there, officer. And visitors have to sign in.’</p><p>‘Open the door.’ She was tall, broad, her brown hair was tied up in a neat ponytail. </p><p>Jon rolled his eyes, and slid a keycard to their side of the desk.</p><p>‘Names?’</p><p>‘Come on,’ the second officer nodded to the door after picking up the key card. She was slight, wiry, and she moved quickly to catch up with her partner. </p><p>‘Excuse me?’ Jon tried. ‘What do you think you’re doing-?’</p><p>The door opened in front of them, and Tim walked through, clutching his plush cat.</p><p>‘Oh! Basira! I guess the investigation’s finally going ahead!’</p><p>‘Tim. We’d like a witness statement off you, actually.’</p><p>‘That’s great, hey Jon, catch!’</p><p>‘No, Tim-’</p><p>Jon actually managed to catch it, but the sudden movement made him swear.</p><p>‘Anywhere here we can do the interviews?’ Basira asked, sticking directly to the point.</p><p>‘Sure,’ Tim said easily, ‘my office downstairs would be best. Catch you later, Jon!’</p><p>But there was strain there. Jon knew that something bad was going down, and he was just glad Tim was a witness. Jon wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw anyone get put in handcuffs and frogmarched out, but he was well aware there would be very little he<em> could </em> do. He just wanted a straight answer, but the cops wouldn’t give him one, Jon supposed they didn’t have to, or maybe they weren’t allowed, and Tim quickly walked them into the archives, his shoulders raised, his hands clenching and unclenching like he was remembering to lower his hackles.</p><p>Jon supposed it was nothing. Perhaps there was another break in, like there had been way back in March. </p><p>It was five minutes to lunch, and Jon went early. He went straight out to the smoking area, because he was gasping for one. He was glad he clocked off early. He was bang on time for lunch by the time he made his way out to the bench in the courtyard. Lugging the cane around made his shoulders ache, the pain in his hip had abated a little, but now the wound just over his left knee was playing up. A short walk could take an awfully long time.</p><p>And when he got there, his favourite bench was occupied.</p><p>‘Afternoon, Sasha.’</p><p>She jumped. She was so jumpy recently, and on her own, Sasha seemed more on edge than ever. </p><p><em> God </em>, Jon thought, looking at the way she startled, the way she was ready to get up and go as soon as she saw him. They used to chat a bit, usually when they crossed paths on the way to the breakroom. The second he put some thought into it, it was obvious that she was hurting, and for quite some time now, too.</p><p>Easy smiles had shaped up into something tense in the last few weeks before the infestation, but now it had culminated into something Jon could not ignore. Jon saw her, sitting hunched on the bench, like she was ready to take cover. Her elbows dug into her knees, and it looked like she’d just raised her head out of her hands.</p><p>‘Jon, don’t worry, I was just finishing-’</p><p>‘Don’t get up on my account, honestly.’</p><p>He sat down beside her, and while she looked ready to bolt, she stayed put.</p><p>He pulled out a cigarette from the packet she gave him, and grimaced when he realised he didn’t have a light.</p><p>She stared into the middle distance, at a spot where the pattern in the gravel changed from red-brown to blue-grey. It was a tasteful courtyard devoid of charm or character, and the wet cement and ornamental gravel and uniform potted plants all glistened depressingly on the dreary Monday morning. Though she was looking away, she wordlessly pulled out a lighter from the inside pocket of her leather jacket, and held it out for Jon.</p><p>A moment passed between them. The lighter stayed between her finger and thumb, and Jon didn’t move to take it from her. Pulled from her daze, she looked him up and down, and got it. She raised a challenging eyebrow, and experimentally flicked the lighter for him.</p><p>‘Cheers.’ He smiled, lowering his eyes as he leaned into the flame, cigarette between his lips. And Sasha was powerless to resist smiling in turn. He was totally, and painfully, sincere about everything he did, and for Sasha, that was something special. </p><p>The light didn’t take, so Sasha brought the lighter closer to Jon. He muttered a thank you, and cupped a hand around the little flame to shield it from the wind. She felt his hand around her frozen one, and how his long eyelashes fluttered as he blinked against the wind and the pervasive, drizzling rain. The heat on his face from such a little flame was still so scathing against his cold cheeks, and he could finally feel the cold snap in the air through the contrast. Finally, Jon drew a long, deep breath of smoke, his cheeks hollowed and his shoulders relaxed as he breathed out plumes of smoke through his nose.</p><p>And then, at last conscious of the closeness between them, Jon smiled lopsidedly, holding the cigarette loosely between his teeth. He leaned back, transferring the cigarette from his lips to between his fingers, where the smoke twirled in a pillar before the wind blew it away. His sleeve rode up his arm again, and Sasha did not notice the scab on the inside of his arm so much as the elegance and grace with which he held himself. </p><p>Then their eyes met, and Jon smiled a little, before he looked away to the space behind her. He looked shy. She understood why he’d be nervous around her, as much as she could remember his hand in hers, she remembered letting him go, the drop from the ceiling to the floor, the look on his face-</p><p>‘You know, I was hoping to bump into you sometimes today. Thanks for these, by the way.’</p><p>She scoffed. ‘Don’t thank me, they’re not exactly good-’</p><p>‘Yeah, I know. But everyone’s being so weird around me at the moment, and… I don’t know. I appreciate it.’</p><p>‘Oh. Well, then you’re welcome.’</p><p>‘Look, I just wanted to ask. Why… Earlier, you said you were sorry, and for a minute I thought, maybe, you were apologising. Well, obviously you were apologising, but it seemed like you thought you were responsible. And I don’t understand why.’</p><p>Sasha’s jaw dropped. She wasn’t sure how to explain what was common knowledge.</p><p>‘Are you feeling some form of survivor’s guilt? Is that it?’</p><p>It had been a long time since someone had pressed her so hard for answers. Tim and Martin would never, not now.</p><p>‘I guess that’s an element, but-’</p><p>‘You can’t torture yourself over this. It’s not your fault. There was an infestation, and you had to get out of there, and you didn’t know what would happen. You know that you lot in the archives have been… sincerely kind to me. And not just today. You came to investigate those weird marks on the desk, and I would never have asked you to, but it was very sweet.’</p><p>He flicked his ash to stare at something while he continued. His movements were deft, deliberate, the tremor in his hand just a part of the practiced flick as he polluted this pristine, sterile block of cement that passed for outdoor space in London.</p><p>‘It’s the little things. I suppose I might have had words with you all about coming in to work too early, or failing to sign out, but the three of you… somewhat liven up my day behind that desk. I’ve been looking forward to coming back, and at least some of the reason why has been… it’s just very nice to see you, and Martin, and Tim, so please don’t let these thoughts become habitual. They’re rather difficult to unlearn.’</p><p>Her fingers dug into her knees, and she stared at the ground. She thought it over for a second, before turning to him.</p><p>‘Is it that obvious I’m having a breakdown?’</p><p>Jon laughed, quickly, then tried to shake himself of it. But her face split into a smile too.</p><p>‘Well, no, but I did psychology once and I won’t let anyone forget about it.’</p><p>‘You’re in the wrong job, Jon, really. That was actually… helpful.’</p><p>He flushed with pride, and bit his lip, containing the little smile threatening to break out.</p><p>‘Good, I’m glad. And from one… shall we say… perceptive individual to another, even though it’s not obvious, I can see you’re dealing with something that’s affecting you rather deeply. I hope you can trust that if I can come to the archives to talk about my baggage, it would be equally welcome in reception, too.’</p><p>Her face finally split into a real Sasha James smile, all wide and sweet. She laughed, softly.</p><p>‘I’m sure I’ll take you up, eventually. You know what it’s like, trust issues, paranoia, the works.’</p><p>Caught off guard, he laughed immediately.</p><p>‘Jesus Christ do I know what it’s like.’</p><p>Sasha looked at him, his greying hair tied back in a severe bun, his glasses chain dangling elegantly, and she could not repress her laughter at the thought of this man, perfectly put together, a picture of rigorous professionalism, consumed by the chaotic paranoia enveloping her. It was a macabre joke, but suddenly, Jon and Sasha were laughing, out loud, the sound ringing around the concrete like a shot. As it died down, Sasha wiped her face and sighed. Then she sobered, a little, and asked;</p><p>‘I know why I’m still here, but you? Jon, why did you come back here? That infestation, the murder case-’</p><p>‘The what?’ Jon interrupted.</p><p>‘Oh, that’s why the cops showed up. They’re investigating Gertrude’s murder.’</p><p>‘Who?’</p><p>‘Oh, right, yeah you weren’t here back then. The old head archivist, Gertrude Robinson, went missing. And after me, Tim and Martin investigated the tunnels under the Institute, they found her.’</p><p>Jon’s brow furrowed. ‘There’s tunnels under the Institute?’</p><p>‘Yeah.’</p><p>‘Oh. Why were you investigating them?’</p><p>‘To see where the worms came from.’</p><p>‘I thought pest control did that?’</p><p>‘Yeah but we wanted to make sure.’</p><p>‘I thought you were archivists?’</p><p>‘We’re very hands on.’</p><p>Exasperated, he took a long drag on his cigarette and finished it. </p><p>Concerned, Sasha tried to figure something out one and for all.</p><p>‘Jon,’ she asked, fixing him with the strongest look she could manage.</p><p>‘Hm?’ He answered, stubbing out the cigarette butt in a tasteful grey plant pot. Sasha took his other hand and squeezed it, like she had before when they were running for their lives, or when he pulled her back from the echoing shadow in artefact storage, or when he grazed her fingers as he lit his cigarette on her lighter. He faced her immediately, wide eyed.</p><p>‘Jon.’</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>‘What exactly do you think is happening here?’ She put everything she could into the question, and the air fizzled with tension around them. </p><p>The contact between them was unbroken, unbreakable.</p><p>Jon could not hold back his reply any longer, and he gasped as an answer fell from him.</p><p>‘C-correct me if I’m wrong…’</p><p>She nodded encouragingly, and leaned in a little. She was so close Jon could smell her cologne on her neck, and see the trace of a love bite under her pressed white collar. She had someone in her life, obviously, and so did he. Maybe she’d even understand. </p><p>He could not hold back from saying it.</p><p>‘But… I think… you want to kiss me.’</p><p>The cogs turned in Sasha’s mind all at once. She narrowed her eyes, scanned Jon’s blushing, nervous face one last time, and then she understood perfectly. Jon did not know a thing about what was going on here.</p><p>‘Oh! Yeah.’</p><p>Then, casually, as if pointing out the weather, she asked him a simple question with a conspiratorial smile, </p><p>‘Do you want to?’</p><p>Jon swallowed, visibly, his jutting Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. Sasha’s eyes followed the movement, then traced up his neck and into his eyes, boring deep for the truth.</p><p>Jon bit his lip, and his eyes glazed over as he thought it all over. Sasha thought too. There was no point explaining. Why bring someone into their world when they were so safely outside it?</p><p>‘I… I have a boyfriend.’ He finally concluded.</p><p>Sasha nodded, and pulled back. She smirked though, and as she stood up, she cast him a look straight out of Tim’s playbook.</p><p>‘So do I. And so does he. Don’t worry, message received but… that’s really not the inhibiting factor it has to be.’</p><p>Jon looked up at her with doe eyes, and though improvising, Sasha couldn’t say she’d <em> never </em> thought the possibility over. It was just one more possibility that she’d forgotten recently. She’d stopped thinking much about anything outside of work, and what that work had become.</p><p>‘I- uh, right. That’s-’</p><p>‘Be seeing you, Jon.’</p><p>‘See you,’ he muttered, weakly, blushed furiously. The door closed behind him, and he was alone in the courtyard. He waited a little, to make sure he wouldn’t bump into Sasha on the way back. </p><p>He was flattered, completely flattered, and he hated himself for how hard it was to tell her no. Or, as she astutely picked up and pointed out, how he hadn’t told her no, how he hadn’t wanted to tell her no, how he wanted… this.</p><p>But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to Elias. Not after everything he'd done for him.</p><p>He needed to have a serious think about his life. As soon as his own flat was ready, he’d move back in and take stock.</p><p>He’d made one right decision, at least. He could hear Sasha in the hallway, just behind the door. So he sat, and waited a little while longer. Jon managed to pick out her conversation, and he strained to hear more.</p><p>‘What, right now?’ </p><p>‘Yes! Right now! They found a tape on me, where you said you did <em> not </em> like Gertrude, <em> just </em> before we found her corpse, just <em> after </em> you hightailed it in the other direction! And the second we found you again, you said ‘you caught me’, Sasha, none of that looks good!’</p><p>‘Martin, that’s bullshit and you know that, right?’</p><p>‘Absolutely, but I really don’t think they care.’</p><p>‘Why were you recording that, anyway?’</p><p>‘I don’t know, they just pop up sometimes, don’t they? That’s how they found the tape in the first place, turned out I was recording my interrogation, and let me tell you, they did not like that one bit.’</p><p>Sasha sucked a breath through her teeth, and Martin went on, more softly.</p><p>‘They didn’t even think I had anything to do with it, and look at me. Sasha, they’ll hurt you… You have to leave, now, before they find you and bring you in for questioning.’</p><p>‘Martin…’</p><p>‘Just go. I’ll tell Tim, don’t worry about anything other than getting out of here.’</p><p>There was a heavy pause between them, and then, finally Sasha spoke again.</p><p>‘Fine. Stay safe though.’</p><p>Martin laughed. ‘I’ll do my best.’</p><p>And then, to Jon’s horror, Martin opened the door and stepped into the courtyard. He rubbed his face, and leaned against the wall, shattered.</p><p>His clothes were rumpled, his hair was a mess, and from the corner of his eye, Jon did not miss the way he trembled.</p><p>Quietly, Jon took out his phone to stare at. That way, when Martin turned around, he only saw a man totally zoned out. </p><p>Martin shot him a paranoid glare that Jon absorbed as he scrolled through Twitter, as if he were totally engrossed and dead to the world. His performance seemed convincing, as after a moment, Martin greeted him and made small talk as both their heads spun with the information they were trying to internalise.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Clueless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>heads up!!! this chapter contains the discussion of delusion, specifically, Jon is convinced his memories are false and that he is delusional. Furthermore, Elias is extremely dismissive of delusions themselves. This is ableist and abusive, and absolutely not how to approach someone who is delusional. For more information on the real and lived experiences of people who live with delusion, please check out https://healthtalk.org/mental-health-ethnic-minority-experiences/hallucinations-delusions</p>
<p>Remember, psychosis is a short term, acute condition, and one that can be treated! It's something many many people experience in their lives, and it doesn't have to be ignored or feared. I'll be discussing delusion, hallucination and psychosis in this fic in the end notes too! Stay safe reading, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When the day was done, Jon waited by Elias’ car for Elias to walk out of Elias’ Institute and take them both back to Elias’ house.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon waited, and seethed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was agony to stand, so he leant on Elias’ car. His cane was a burden, and murder on his shoulder, he thought for the fifteen thousandth time that day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gripped his sparkly gift bag in his left hand, his cane in the other, and clenched his jaw like he was trying to do himself another chronic injury while he waited for Elias to saunter out of that building and explain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took his breaths and considered calling Elias. He wanted to scream down the phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ask him where the hell he was, and why he offered to take him home if he was just going to make him wait while it hurt so much to stand. He could be half way home by now if he was getting the tube, and back to the flat he actually had a key to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sky was even beginning to darken by the time Elias’ figure appeared at the edge of the car park. He looked a little tired, but nothing on Jon. He was only fifteen minutes late, but it added up this side of the year.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t say a word as Elias approached.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias unlocked the car door, and dropped heavily into the driver’s seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With great difficulty, Jon wrangled his cane, the gift bag, and all four of his limbs into the passenger seat of the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence beat down, and Elias waited in the silence. He did not start the car. He was patient. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And when, exactly, were you going to tell me the Institute was a crime scene?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s voice was soft, but his jaw was set, and his eyes were cold. He didn’t look at Elias. He glared ahead, out of the windscreen. Elias let his eyes go wide and worried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well? Were you even going to mention it? I would still have gone back, but it would have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice </span>
  </em>
  <span>to know what I was getting into.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias laughed nervously. ‘Are you going to let me in on this?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘As if you don’t already know.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias let the silence speak for itself. He shook his head slightly, and that finally pressed Jon to look at him. His neck cracked audibly as he whipped around, enraged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Gertrude got</span>
  <em>
    <span> murdered,</span>
  </em>
  <span> the cops came investigating, and I had to hear it from one of your damn archivists! I’m meant to know this place inside out, and I know you knew, and you made me look a fool by not telling me! How hard would it have been to just give me a heads up! Could have made it a memo, ‘hi Jon, murder in the archives, expect police at 3!’ It wouldn’t have killed you!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias let his eyes go wide and shocked, and Jon leaned back in his seat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon…’ Elias’ voice was a whisper. ‘Where is this coming from?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, please. Don’t bother trying to cover it up, Sasha told me everything, and-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sasha?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes,’ he carried on, ‘Sasha. Anyway, the point is-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sasha wasn’t in today.’ Elias broke in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon laughed out loud, and then stopped abruptly. Elias continued.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘She hasn’t been in all week. She works from home, has done since the infestation.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon sucked in a breath, before giving Elias a withering glance. He held up the bag triumphantly, and showed Elias the contents.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias took the card from the bag like it might be poisonous. He scanned the page, and Jon paid attention to his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘This is all the same writing.’ Elias observed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What? No, not the card, the- what do you mean?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias closed the card and handed it back to Jon for any further inspection. He opened it, and stared with furious intent at the writing there, like he had when he first received it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Apart from the librarians, that’s all the same writing. Tim’s, I believe. Lovely gesture, but-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon scrambled around the bag again, and pulled out the packet of cigarettes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I meant this. She gave me these today.’ The only proof she’d been there at all, that he’d had that conversation, that he could have kissed her and then who knew what could have happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias took the packet of cigarettes. First, he looked disappointed. That was fair, Jon thought, he was quitting after all. But then Jon realised that Elias was pitying him. Jon scowled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘This is your brand.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon…’ Elias whined.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon, these are your cigarettes.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes… they are now, anyway. But-?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias handed them back, and Jon scrutinised the box for whatever Elias saw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You bought these, didn’t you?’ He said lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon laughed. ‘No, I didn’t.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘They’re your brand, and Sasha was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> here today. Jon… you bought them on your lunch break and imagined-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Urgently now, Jon repeated himself. ‘No. I didn’t. She… she knew because she told me she was keeping an eye on me, which honestly scared me a bit, but I think she just… fancied me… a bit.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias looked grave, before he seemed to hit on some inspiration. ‘Well, if she was in, you would have signed her in, right?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon crossed his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I didn’t sign any of them in today. Huge commotion with the gifts, Sasha ran off, Tim and Martin went after her- I don’t know, I think she got a bit embarrassed? She said she felt really bad about… everything that happened with the infestation, but I still don’t really get why. Everyone had to evacuate, it’s no one’s fault I was still in the building.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias nodded, like he was listening. ‘I think this hallucination was a form of reconciliation, for you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon spluttered, but Elias was not deterred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘In the infestation, you were passed out under your desk. You know that the evacuation point is in front of the Institute.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused, took a deep breath and carried on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That means everyone in the building walked past you while you were unconscious, and not one of them noticed you were there.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if he’d been struck, Jon sucked a breath through his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I know.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So you must be angry with them, or disappointed, or upset. On some level, you must have known what was happening, and when you came back this morning, it must have been very emotional.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I didn’t… I didn’t feel-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘On some level though, Jon.’ Elias reasoned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon tried to look back, and shrugged. ‘M-maybe? I don’t know-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You said she apologised, showed remorse and even… took a bit of a liking to you. Doesn’t that sound like wish fulfilment to you?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes,’ Jon started, ‘but-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And we know for a fact that she wasn’t in today.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon floundered. There was no evidence, but he saw her, he talked to her, and he knew that had to count.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We can check the CCTV tomorrow if it helps, and I’ll show you the emails between us when we get in, we went over the best approach to archiving remotely just this morning. And if she did just pop in for some reason, you would have signed her in, and you haven’t.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Okay, okay, but-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon shook his head. ‘No.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias raised his eyebrows and waited for Jon to articulate himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Elias, I know about hallucinations. They’re not dreams! They don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> narratives! They’re not that long, they’re fragmentary, brief, they’re just… sensory information with no basis in reality. Maybe if I thought I saw Sasha for a second, or in a reflection, or if I thought I was receiving secret messages from her… but this isn’t that. And, and I think we’re forgetting about the investigation! Why were the police here today?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What police?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frustrated, Jon buried his head in his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘The police! The police walked in today and they wanted a word with Tim, and Martin told Sasha to leave because they wanted to talk to her and-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias shook his head, actually laughed, and Jon faltered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I take it you didn’t sign the police in, either?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon let out a long, loud sigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to make his own mind up, he knew that now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m not a very good receptionist.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gently, Elias took his hand and squeezed it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re incredible. You’re just going through a lot at the moment, but you’ll get better.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon looked at Elias with his big dark eyes, and Elias gave him a warm smile. He didn’t even know what to fear, and yet there was still so much fear in him. The desperate hope he might live up to Elias’ expectations, the terrible knowledge that he could never. All the wrong things ate at Jon when he lay awake at night next to Elias, who lay awake watching him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias cupped his face, the cheek that wasn’t marred by a flaking scab under Jon’s lower lashline, and Jon sank into the palm of Elias’ hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So there’s no investigation?’ Jon asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, Jon.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He made his choice. It broke his heart, but he made up his mind and leaned into the crook of Elias’ neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Okay.’ He pressed the word to Elias’ skin with a kiss, and Elias revelled in knowing he was trusted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>What a novelty.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stayed that way for a long time, until Elias finally drove them home. And if Jon’s short nap was long enough for Elias to fake the emails he showed him, Jon wasn’t going to dwell on his paranoia any further. Instead, he promised himself he'd make a record of yesterday, in that journal in his desk. It was hidden from prying eyes, and it wouldn't look out of place on his desk. It was perfect. He thought about it all night long, unable to sleep even as exhaustion weighed on his eyelids like stone. The sheets were lead, his body too heavy to move, and he decided he must be too tired to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when he opened his eyes at 6:00 am the next day, Jon braced himself to keep things straight in his head today. He wasn’t going to let the kaleidoscope his life had become get away from him. He would remain clearheaded no matter what, and if he didn't, he swore to himself he would have a record to keep him together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost as dazed, and just as tired, at 6:00 am, Tim handed his phone to law enforcement. They did not enforce any known law, and they did not act within it. Tim did not understand how 6:00 am had become such a fraught hour in the day. Daisy and Basira did not understand how Sasha could text Tim without leaving a trace. Tim didn’t either, but he understood Sasha. She was good with computers. If it was possible, she could do it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The way Daisy and Basira took it in turns to flick through his phone suggested that they didn’t think it was possible. They zoomed in on the selfie she sent him, looking for anything, any clue, any hint she might have left behind. Tim let them, apparently unconcerned. Sasha was smart with computers, and pretty much everything else. She could handle it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim couldn’t. So he didn’t. He got comfortable in his chair, and got used to the interrogation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He never even used to be awake before 7:00 am. Then 6:30 was time to drink coffee and come round from a long night’s sleep. Now, 6:00 am was time to tell the cops that he still didn’t know where his girlfriend was, and to try to persuade them that she never killed anyone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Then why’d she run?’ Daisy spat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim shrugged. Technically, no one was stopping him from running away either. He just didn’t fancy his chances fighting his way out of that room, his own office. Bleary, he rubbed his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Think she just wanted to avoid this.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Selfish.’ Daisy tutted. ‘Leaving you behind to face the music.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim shrugged again, non-committal, giving nothing away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We will find her, Tim.’ Basira promised. Perhaps to someone else, the words might be reassuring. And if they weren’t, then her own calm authority, her uniform, her straight spine and rigid shoulders would be. But Tim could recognise a threat when he heard it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Cool. Maybe when you find her, you can ask </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> what she means by ‘you caught me’ and you can stop interrogating me about it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So, you’re sure then.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim cocked his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That we wouldn’t find out she did it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim settled into his swivel chair like he was made for it. He threw his legs over the armrest, crossing them, one arm hooked over the back of the chair, the other twirled a pen as if of its own accord. He didn’t cut an intimidating figure. To Daisy, he looked like he might have been flirting, if his heart was in it. From what she’d heard from Basira, he was the type to try it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he stared up at her from under his heavy brow, and his gaze was ice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘She didn’t do it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind him, Basira paced up and down the room. Tim didn’t watch her, he kept his eyes on Daisy, the unknown variable. He’d figure her out, it was only a matter of time, and once he did then the game would change.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Basira stopped behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Then you want to find her as much as we do.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim thought carefully before answering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sure I want to find her, I miss her.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, he looked around at Basira. Daisy disappeared from view. He knew she was right behind him though. That was not a comfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘But why’d I want to find her as much as you do? I’m not investigating the case, and I don’t think she’s a suspect, or a killer.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy’s laugh was menacing in the back of her throat. She was scarier when he didn’t have an eye on her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Because you don’t wanna know what happens if we find her first.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> look at Daisy. He didn’t so much as breathe, and Basira looked back at him, unblinking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he took a deep, deliberate breath, and refrained from asking. He didn’t have to use his power to know these things. And a plan was starting to come together in his mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Turns out, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to find Sasha as much as you two. And I want to be there when you do find her. But I know it wasn't her, and I know you know that too. We can stop trying to pin this on her, and find the real killer. There's some suspects I want to talk to, real monsters, and I know that you two'll want to be there for that as much as I do.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Will we now?’ Daisy asked, her voice startlingly close behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim bared his teeth in a smile. ‘Well, maybe not as much as me. But I know how to find monsters, and I know why I don’t want you finding Sasha without me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy walked into view just as Basira slipped out of it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Is that a threat?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Easily, Tim shook his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s an opportunity. Is it so hard to believe I want to make friends? We both want the same things, don’t we? Find Sasha, find the killer, and maybe even cross off a few monsters in between now and then.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let the sentence dangle, and Daisy closed in. Intimidating, but Tim remained relaxed in the chair. He flicked his hair out of his eyes and looked at Daisy, trying to draw some information out without her realising what he was doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You know what, first tip-off’s on the house. You want to check out Sarah Baldwin, works in a taxidermy shop in Barnet. Can’t be more than one.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy stepped closer, all but physically shaking more details out of him. Repressing a gleeful smile, she looked behind Tim, presumably at Basira.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Baldwin. Haven’t heard the name before.’ Eager, curious, just twitching to get her hands on something evil and make it pay. It took one to know one, and Tim knew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, she’s trouble alright.’ Tim warned. Daisy stopped still, stood to attention. Tim had her now. So he somehow leaned further back in his chair, and whistled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to know what she does-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No.’ Basira shut it down. ‘We want to find Sasha and get to the bottom of who killed Gertrude. No monster-hunts, no lowlifes, no distractions.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Daisy nodded seriously, stepping back and away, but Tim knew she was hooked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Basira might be more difficult, but with Daisy on his side, he might not even need her. If he could get just one of them on side, earn his place with at least one of them, then maybe, when he found Sasha, there was a chance they could both be persuaded. And if not, there might be a window to escape while they were still divided before they started… doing what he knew he didn’t want to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Outside the door, Martin listened. And he hoped Tim had a plan, and he hoped that he knew what he was doing, and above all that he hoped Tim wasn’t… leaving. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard the sound of scraping chairs, and he busied himself with the kettle. The cops stormed through like bad weather, and left Tim standing in his office. A little uncertain, Martin poked his head around the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘They’ve gone, then?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim nodded. Bravado abandoned him now, and he shuddered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah. They’ll be back, though.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Would you like a cup of tea?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim nodded. ‘I’ll come with.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the archive’s breakroom, next to the makeshift bedroom in document storage, the clinking of tea cups covered the tension. Martin wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to press. Tim fussed with a teaspoon to figure out where he was even going to start.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I… I don’t know what I think I’m doing.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Take it you didn’t mean to take a career shift.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, no. Don’t think my heart’s really in monster-hunting. Archiving is far more of an adrenaline rush.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled, and wrapped his fingers around the mug. They trembled. Martin let his gaze linger a few seconds more. Tim was beautiful, just beautiful, and he was scared out of his mind and he was trying something stupid. And Martin couldn't stop him, but he didn't have to stand by and watch him take the plunge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Got that right,’ Martin assured him. ‘This place is the real thrill ride, hunting down monsters with the fake cops would never compare.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim laughed, and dipped his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to put it into words.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Martin, this is like a trust fall.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin’s heart swelled. Tim could trust him, trust him to catch him, trust him to stay. He could put a little more trust in him though, he was better than a mattress to break his fall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’ve got you,’ Martin promised. He did, but he could do Tim one better. He just couldn’t tell him, that might risk everything. So he’d be everything Tim asked for, and then, quietly, Martin would be what he really needed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They washed up the mugs together, their fingers touched and then they were holding each other tight, leant up against the little counter and sink. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They kissed, slowly, reluctant to move on. Even if they couldn’t really read each other’s minds, even if they kept their secrets, they knew whose side they were on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They kissed, and then they got to work, and Martin and Tim knew whose side they were on.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Much like the physical disability and chronic illness in this fic, I'm not drawing from first hand experience in my discussion of delusion and hallucination. To clarify further, in this fic, Jon is not experiencing delusion or hallucination, but if he were, this interaction with Elias would still be extremely invalidating, dismissive, and abusive. For more information on healthy ways to support a loved one experiencing a delusion or hallucination, visit https://www.bcss.org/support/how-do-i-get-help-for-my-loved-one/steps-working-delusions/</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Worn Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>‘Jesus.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Melanie had changed. She was hardly recognisable to Sasha. She’d grown her hair out from her jet black buzzcut and into a short bob, she had a few new tattoos snaking out from under her sleeves, and maybe a few lines around her eyes where they’d melted from Sasha’s own face. But that deadpan exclamation brought back a thousand of Sasha’s memories, and brought a warmth to Sasha’s heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Still going by Sasha, actually.’ It was an old joke, one that was sure to land if Melanie still cared for Sasha at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sasha hadn’t known whether she still did, at first. Showing up in the middle of a work day, there was no guarantee Melanie would even be in. But she had stepped aside and allowed Sasha in. It was only after she made tea that she spotted Sasha’s massive rucksack over her shoulders. Sasha didn’t acknowledge the question on Melanie’s lips. Instead, she slung her rucksack to the floor, and leant it up against Melanie’s ugly sofa from uni. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She waited for Melanie to get over the shock of seeing her before explaining just why she showed up out of the blue angling to move in after a decade of radio silence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m on the run from the cops because I’ve been framed for murder.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Melanie dropped her mug on the floor. It clattered, but it did not break. Tea went everywhere though, soaking the carpet and both their socks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Wh- wh-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Sasha asked a question, just to ground her, and to prove her point later on when she would really need Melanie to believe her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do you want to know what’s going on? What’s really going on?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It gripped Melanie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ She answered. She couldn’t have said anything else. Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t take it back. Sasha could see she genuinely wanted to know, wanted to believe and be believed. It took one to know one, and Sasha knew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thought twice. She’d spared Jon from this, and here was someone else she could spare too. But she looked at Melanie and saw she saw a woman getting herself in trouble, someone who couldn’t be separated from the world Sasha herself was only just beginning to see. Melanie had been hunting down the paranormal for as long as Sasha was willing to admit it was an interest, and ten years of looking for answers left her worked up, and bitter, and curious. Sasha could leave her in the dark but that wouldn’t stop her from looking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Sasha told her everything, and Melanie was enraptured. And Sasha felt good. It was so good to share knowledge with someone, even as it shattered someone’s world, even as it proved every awful, paranoid fear and undermined the coherent world around Melanie. The one she never really believed in, anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So…’ Sasha had asked on that first day, rucksack still unpacked so that if Melanie wanted her to go, she could just go. ‘How’s the last ten years treated you?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it was like Melanie couldn’t stop talking. She revisited every familiar face from the old days in paranormal investigation, the highs and lows of her youtube career, every little argument and snippy comment that mounted up into a bad reputation for being difficult to work with, all before she finally wound around to the problem with Sarah Baldwin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sasha just watched her pour it all out for her, she tapped her finger against her jaw and concentrated. Her warm dark eyes were full of patient curiosity, and Melanie felt like a celebrity when Sasha eased her story along with helpful questions that revitalised her, kept her talking, brought all the little details to life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sasha even heard the tape recorder in her backpack click to life, and she only paid more attention. This was more information on Baldwin than they’d gotten from Antonia Farron, one of Melanie’s former colleagues who’d gone to investigate the haunted old hospital and made a statement about the same night that changed Melanie’s life. About the creep on sound Melanie had plucked out of nowhere. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing Melanie and Toni on the same hunt made Sasha laugh out loud, at the time, before she realised how serious it all really was. Toni was just another one of the paranormal investigators Sasha used to run with, back before the Institute. She’d excommunicated Sasha, too, for her ‘bad vibes’, so Sasha had been reluctant to take the statement seriously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking back, perhaps Toni had been a better judge of character than Sasha wanted to admit. She had a wonderful way of sniffing out the dark paths people were walking down, and cutting them off before they dragged her down with them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sasha looked Melanie up and down as she complained about Baldwin, and Toni, and Andy and Pete and everyone else she worked with. She threw her hands up in the air at how unfair it was to see something and never, ever be believed, even by the people who ought to believe her, ought to know the truth when it came around and stapled itself together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And if they didn’t believe her, well, that was because they’d never seen anything like what they claimed they had. And they probably didn’t deserve to, either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sasha nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, no one deserves to see what’s really out there.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After Melanie had gone to bed, accepting the killer on the loose, the telepathic ghost hunter, and whatever else Sasha was to her, into her home, Sasha listened back to Melanie’s tape. She made a few notes, and tried to think back to the statement made by Antonia Farron. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Tim obviously took a huge interest in the statement, being about wrongness and skin, and I took an interest because I used to know the woman! Before she cut me off for being, I believe,”too up myself” once I started working for the Institute.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She chuckled, quietly so as not to wake Melanie. Then she sobered a little.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Had it started then? Even then? It was Artefact Storage back then, I wasn’t even connected to the Eye. Not unless that all kicked off before The Magnus Institute. God, what a world. Maybe I shouldn’t have got Melanie into it, her brush with Baldwin could have gone a hell of a lot worse, and it’s clearly freaked her out if everyone else is starting to pull away. Like they did with me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You know, that’s when she broke up with me. I thought she was just jealous, if I’m being honest, but if it was Farron and her weird bullshit aversion, then no wonder she steered clear. Huh, I wonder if that’s what Jon’s got. That kind of built in magic detector that just goes off and keeps you out of it. Might be useful, being like that. I think I’m a magnet for it, personally. I don’t think… right, this’ll probably come back to haunt me if I say it, but I don’t think I’d have it any other way. Just too damn curious, I guess.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m going to ask Melanie to help me with this. I have to clear my name. I have to get back to the Institute, I still have so much left to figure out.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And the first stop is gonna be Baldwin. We’ve been looking for her since Rawlings came back from the dead. Well, from off the Missing Person’s register anyway, and with a shiny new interest in taxidermy. Back in Archive Storage, we’ve got a record of the fact that Gertrude interred that ancient gorilla skin he was so obsessed with, and that she withdrew it. I actually issued her a fine when got damaged, but they never told us underlings that by damaged they meant totally incinerated.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sasha sighed, and gripped the sides of the tape recorder as it whirred soothingly in her palm. She tried to pull the threads together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I know there’s something here. Farron said she saw under Baldwin’s sleeves when she was smoking, and we know that the real Baldwin got got by The Smoker in 2006. Smoking, skin, the gorilla skin, the taxidermy shop… if Gertrude burned Baldwin and Rawling’s skin, maybe one of them killed her for it? Why… why would… maybe I can ask her in person, see if I can get a monster to talk.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She clicked the tape off, having vented, and slept poorly, on that first night. She dreamt she watched Melanie hide from a woman who pulled the skin off her hands like gloves.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She woke up the next morning trembling just as Melanie stomped down the stairs. She didn’t ask her how she slept. She could tell by the dark circles under her eyes that Melanie was as harrowed by what she heard last night as Sasha. Sasha, however, looked radiant, no matter how poisoned she felt on the inside</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sasha sat at the kitchen table sipping coffee and fiddling with her phone and laptop, just like the old days. Melanie made coffee and toast and knew that Sasha would steal a slice off her plate and sip from her mug. She let her, and made enough toast for two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sasha’s finger’s were a blur on the keyboard as she erased her digital presence and online trail. Satisfied she was untraceable, she sent Tim a selfie so he knew she was safe, and even quite happy. It was a cocky thing to do, knowing the cops would see it when they inevitably went through their communications, so she made sure to throw up a peace sign and wink, just for them. Just so they knew she knew, and so Tim would know too. Just so he wouldn’t worry so much, really.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Melanie washed up, and Sasha skipped the pleasantries and went straight to the point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I know where Baldwin’s based, and I wanna go talk to her. I think I can use her to clear my name, maybe help with the real investigation. Want in?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ Melanie answered, quickly, and Sasha immediately felt bad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the point stood, and the plan was simple and Melanie was excited. She tried to hide it, obviously, but the chance to see for herself the life Sasha told her about, to revisit the night that ruined her career and get some answers, even some revenge? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was all she could do to keep from watching the clock until dusk, until they got into Sasha’s beat up Mini Cooper, and drove up to Barnet to drop in on Baldwin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They left Baldwin’s taxidermy shop in the early hours of the morning. Numb, they got back into the car and drove away, letting the blood drip where it would. They didn’t feel it. It wasn’t theirs. They collapsed into bed at 4:00 am, and they would sleep until noon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unlike Tim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At 6:00 am, Tim was on his way to Barnet to follow up a vague hunch he hoped the cops would take more seriously than he did. Anything to implicate a real monster, or failing that, to find out something new about these… skin obsessors. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes burned with tiredness, and the sun had not yet broken over the dark blue morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bounced his leg in the back of the police car, and he listened to his heart pound. He wiped his face, and scrubbed at his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You could have stayed in bed.’ Basira reminded him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hm.’ It was the most Tim had in him to acknowledge her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to convert his anxiety into alertness, but his brain still felt fogged. It was too early. That felt like a pathetic limit on his performance, especially when Daisy and Basira were as functional as they always were. Tim couldn’t afford to be weak around them, he had to be on top form and instead he was just exhausted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the drive was spent in silence as Tim tried to pull himself together and prepare to interrogate Baldwin. He didn’t really know what she could throw light on, but the possibilities were limitless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet, when he opened the door to The Trophy Room, he couldn’t anticipate what he saw. Even Daisy and Basira jolted, jumping to the same defensive stance in unison. Basira’s hand went to her hip, and for a moment Tim thought she was going to pull a gun. He relaxed at the sight of the torch, until she turned it on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The place had clearly been attacked, the shattered windows and upturned taxidermy gave it away. A trail of blood cut a path across the floor to the back office. All the signs of a struggle put Basira and Tim on edge. Daisy was in her element.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The stench hit Tim and his eyes watered. He coughed, and Daisy rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Keep it together, Stoker.’ Daisy warned through gritted teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ Tim insisted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His deep breaths rapidly shortened to hyperventilation, and Basira effortlessly pushed him away to cross the threshold. She kept her torch out in front of her and her hand on the gun at her hip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy and Tim tailed her. Daisy would follow Basira anywhere, and Tim needed answers, and a close eye on the investigators.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closed the door behind them, and Daisy shot him a scathing look as he jumped when Daisy kicked some debris out from under her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m just not exactly used to this! Thinking about it, it’s not exactly reassuring you’re both so at home here.’ He deflected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You asked to be here.’ Daisy reminded him sternly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim took a deep breath of the putrid air. Scaplehorn’s statement had warned him of the chemical scent of flowers, but Tim could discern more specifically the smell of cloves and blood. It was a smell he remembered from his encounter with the Circus of the Other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, I did.’ He tamped down his fear and focused on the promise of answers, insight, and understanding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Guys. We might not be alone here.’ Basira whispered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The layout of the shop largely followed Scaplehorn’s description, and Tim was no longer surprised that he could recall it now. The three of them followed the trail of blood to the room Tim knew was the office, behind the main shop. This was where Tim’s experience of The Trophy Room differed from Scaplehorn’s. The scent only grew more potent the closer they got to the office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim found himself leading the party when Basira wordlessly passed him her torch as he pushed the office door open. She followed close behind him, and Daisy faced the other way, backing away from the main shop floor, keeping watch on the front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was little comfort in the face of the horror waiting in the office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Bloody hell.’ Basira recoiled. Daisy whipped her head around and paled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Got that right. Look at it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim could not stop looking at it. He took a faltering step back, into Basira, barely mouthed an apology and she shoved him into the office. He couldn’t take another step forward without stepping on swathes of leather or a fur pelt. He stumbled, feinted to the side, and heard something crunch underfoot. He looked down, and saw stiff and bloodied feathers under his tan boots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cast his eyes further into the room, at the display cabinets face down on the floor and splintered, the shattered panels of glass spilled out on the floor under the toppled taxidermy, grotesque and bloody. Heads and front legs rolled on the floor, dismembered and leaking stuffing. And all around the room, thick ribbons of skin were strewn around all the destroyed furniture like tattered rags. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clumps of hair and wet red sawdust, strips of skin and clothes, and scratches on the hardwood floor and collapsed plastic desk, and bloody handprints and smears on the olive walls all led to one obvious conclusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim froze, and his grip went weak around the torch. It clattered to the floor, the beam of light danced like a spotlight that didn’t know what to follow, picking out the ivory teeth, lacquered claws and glass eyes before it flicked out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He dropped to his knees and scrambled for the torch, while Basira watched on disparagingly. She smiled at Daisy behind Tim’s back, and she stifled a laugh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So your girlfriend demolished our only lead because she’s innocent, huh?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy’s taunts were serrated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>'Sasha?</span>
  </em>
  <span> That’s a leap. And since when was Baldwin a lead?’ Tim shot back, unhesitatingly, wincing as he cut his hand on some shard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He found the torch, turned it on and cast it around the room. Nothing had leapt out at them or disturbed the evidence, except for his own cut finger. He held it up to the light, and wiped the blood off on his jeans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Baldwin’s just one of the monsters you two are </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span> to put down before it comes to this.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Basira scoffed. ‘So… thanks for wasting our time then, Tim.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy squared her shoulders, and Tim was suddenly aware of how they bracketed him in. He thought quickly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘She wasn’t a lead, but she… Gertrude had problems with the skin, it was just, it was a hunch but, look, now you know how dangerous these people are, they kill and get killed all the time.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Basira made a low noise of confusion, muttered something like 'Gertrude had skin problems?', so Tim carried on running his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We just have to dig into Gertrude, see who she was talking to before she went missing, what she was messing with. There’s some statements we have on hand that’ll get us started up again. Baldwin was probably a false start anyway, now we can really get the case underway.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even by torchlight, Basira’s expression was openly sceptical. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Whatever, this crime scene is totally contaminated now anyway.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Good going.’ Daisy hissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A thick shred of skin came unstuck from the ceiling and landed wetly on the floor at Tim’s feet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Lets just photograph the evidence and get out of here.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim snapped up pictures of whatever Basira or Daisy photographed, and quickly sent them to Martin before they could notice or stop him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Marto: Fuck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marto: :(</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Marto: Any statements I should start tracking down? x</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Against his rising panic, Tim couldn’t help but smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Daisy led them back to her car, and Tim spent the journey back praying he’d find something in Gertrude’s last statements. Someone big and scary, someone who threatened her and was still alive to tell Tim, Daisy and Basira the tale. He knew he really had to procure a monster to put down if he wanted to keep the cops on side and off his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could see the glances they shared when they thought he wasn’t looking. Tim was </span>
  <em>
    <span>never</span>
  </em>
  <span> not looking. He wasn’t sure he could afford not to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He racked his brains. The whole taxidermy shop was a bust, so however Rawlings and Baldwin had come back from the dead, unless they were going to do it again any time soon, they were out of the picture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We have the tapes she recorded in the evidence locker. You pull together your game-changing statements while we go fetch them. Then we’ll put together a list of witnesses, and go search again tonight. Got it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Basira’s plan was sound, and above all, it gave Tim some time. Daisy looked antsy, but Tim only needed one of them on side at a time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Got it.’ He smiled gratefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They dropped him off at the Magnus Institute, and Tim tumbled in through the front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Morning Jon,’ he greeted, weakly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well well well, what time do you call this?’ Jon closed the book he was writing in, and folded his arms with exaggerated sternness. Tim quirked a smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Opening… time?’ He tried, sheepish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Exactly.’ Jon teased. ‘I haven’t seen you in later than 7:00 am since your first day. Oh Tim, you wouldn’t be relaxing, would you?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim laughed, and leaned easily on Jon’s desk. The claw marks looked all the more threatening today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon, I promise you, I literally wouldn’t dream of it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon laughed along with him, and signed Tim in before continuing to write in the log. He didn’t watch Tim go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Martin!’ Tim called out once he reached the bottom of the stairs. ‘Martin, I need anything you can get on skin, bodies, or, or stuffed stuff-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Stuffed stuff?’ Martin poked his head around the door to document storage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, taxidermy, or dolls, whatever… you know, stuffed.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim strode around document storage, ghosting his hand over the stacked files and trying to attune his fingertips to the paper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Skin, skin, skin, skin,’ he chanted to himself. Martin had seen Tim’s method in action enough times to let it go without comment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim drew back and ran his hands through his shoulder length hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No skin?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, it was all over the floor.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin paused for a moment, before he connected the dots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘In the taxidermy shop?’ He prompted, gently.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ Tim breathed. ‘Yeah, Martin it was horrible? It was just really horrible, and I really don’t think Sasha could do it and I know someone’s setting her up and if we don’t stop them then these… bastards are just gonna let her go down for it or kill her just to close the case-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim fell into Martin’s side, and Martin pulled him into a hug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We’re not gonna let them do that.’ Martin reassured him. Tim made a sound of disagreement, but Martin pulled him back and looked him in the eyes. Tim buried his head in the crook of Martin’s neck.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We won’t let them. Tim, we’ve got this.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim nodded reluctantly, and Martin gave him a determined smile. Tim tried to return it, but it failed on his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Where’s- Martin, the statements are missing.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin felt the blood drain from his face. ‘What?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I couldn’t feel anything on skin, and there’s always something, there’s always some mannequin or book or something, there’s always something, and now they’re just gone and that’s never happened before, I-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gestured desperately to the identical rows of manila files, as densely packed as ever, and knew that only he could see what had been taken from under his nose. He broke into a smile, desperate and wild eyed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That- that at least means I’m onto something, at least, they wouldn’t take something that didn’t help!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘They?’ Martin asked, frantically trying to keep up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Whoever wants Sasha to take the fall for this, they’ve taken the statements, all of them on skin. Right, we have to crack out the tapes, gotta at least work with what we’ve got, and-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim paced when he was thinking this quickly, and Martin stared wide eyed when Tim stopped dead in the middle of the aisle and the sentence.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, shit.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim didn’t reply.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What now? Tim?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘They’re here already, shit, that really wasn’t much time-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim started pulling random files from the shelf, and hoped like hell that his instincts were still working. He just needed living people, subjects, monsters, witnesses, whatever, just something they could interrogate tonight so Tim could prove himself. He saw it in Daisy’s twitchy smile and Basira’s unamused glare that they needed results, and they needed them now. They wouldn’t accept Tim’s theory that the perpetrator broke in to steal their leads unless he could get them to trust his judgement first.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He just hoped he could trust it too, and figure out who stole the statements before the evidence led them back to Sasha’s hideout.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just up the stairs, Jon picked up the folders Elias left on his desk, tied them together and placed them in an envelope. He wrote Sasha’s home address on the front, sealed it shut, and at eight am, he called in a favour with a friendly librarian and had them post it in the post office in the corner shop across the road from the Institute because Jon knew even that short walk would take it out of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corner shop was the closest place he could buy cigarettes from, and he simply couldn’t manage it. He noted the observation in the backpages of his log, and watched the librarian walk out with the statements for Sasha. He wondered whether he did this last week, too, and just forgot all about it. He wondered whether he did not do this last week. He just didn’t know, and whiled away the rest of the morning plumbing his memory for a clue either way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The envelope arrived at Melanie’s house at midday. After they washed the blood off each other in the shower and still, resolutely did not talk about it, Sasha spotted the envelope lying on Melanie’s welcome mat. It was addressed to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her blood went cold. Someone knew where she lived, and her hideout was already busted. There was a chance this could be one of skin people, a delivery man, or one of Baldwin’s friends she’d never heard of, out for revenge. But against Melanie’s hissed advice, she opened the thick, weighty envelope. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inside, she found a collection of statements. She smiled and looked up at Melanie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, that’s just made life easier.’</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Trail Blazing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Referencing: 138 - Chosen, 87 - The Uncanny Valley, 61 - Hard Shoulder</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tim could feel them outside, the way they padded across the pavement, up the marble steps towards the main entrance. They were outside, closing in on the front door, and for a second Tim couldn’t breathe. He could feel their presence as clearly as if he could see them, the way Daisy led and let Basira take cover behind her, as instinct, as habit, without question. Together, they bore down on him, and Tim was terrified. </p><p>He had three folders in his hands. They needed to show him a monster he could show Daisy and Basira. He did not know if these statements contained the monster he needed. He had plucked them from the shelves at random.</p><p>Not at random. They called to him. About a million others did too, though, but these three folders were in his hands and the remaining million were not, so Tim had to put his trust in the fact that these folders were the folders he picked.</p><p>‘Get out of here, Martin.’</p><p>Martin could not be here if Tim was wrong, or unlucky, or both. </p><p>Martin was speaking. Tim couldn’t hear. Not when the cops were crossing the floor to the front desk, and they were frightening Jon, and Tim could feel it from the floor below. Jon’s fear was a beacon, brightening as he argued with the cops. The glow of terror that was Jon was a fixed constant like a star in the sky, or a point on his radar of flickering fears, something Tim could never quite dismiss. Still, Jon gave the cops hell for failing to sign in last time, and would not allow them to move on without signing in today.</p><p>Tim snapped himself into focus, wanting to at least make good on the time Jon was making for him by arguing with the cops even as he grew more frightened by the second.</p><p>‘Take a break, upstairs, away. Martin, they’re coming, and unless I’ve got something good I-’ Tim stopped, abruptly, and Martin could see when he was being pleaded with.</p><p>‘Okay,’ he smiled, heart thrumming in his chest. He squeezed Tim’s hand and parted. ‘I’ll be in the upstairs breakroom, text me as soon as they’re gone.’</p><p>‘And you’ll know if it all starts kicking off.’ Tim reassured them both. Martin nodded, and left quickly.</p><p>Tim looked down at the folders in his hands. The thread that ran through his fingers and into every word on the page was strong. He braced himself, and opened the first folder as he walked into his office.</p><p>It was empty. </p><p>He gasped and looked around, feeling Basira and Daisy’s presence above him. Jon was becoming hysterically afraid, and he kept his voice even as he argued. Tim closed his eyes and tried to tune out all the fear, all the fear in the Institute’s, including his own, beating heavily against his ribcage. He let the empty folder drop from his hands, and opened the next one. </p><p>It was in French. Tim didn’t speak French, and he didn’t understand. He tossed the folder over his shoulder in frustration, and slammed the last one in his stack onto his desk.</p><p>At last, Daisy and Basira were approaching the top of the stairs, and Tim knew. He knew exactly how Daisy charged forward just as he knew how Basira shadowed, and he knew that they were running down the stairs just as clearly as he knew that if they found out what kind of distraction he’d posed them, that they would kill him, and it would be agony.</p><p>Desperate now, he ripped the statement from its folder and scanned it.</p><p>Tim’s eyes widened. Then, he smiled just as Daisy threw open his office door with a crash.</p><p>‘Hello officers,’ he grinned toothily, and put his feet up on his desk.</p><p>From behind Daisy, Basira looked exhausted already.</p><p>‘This had better be worth it,’ she threatened.</p><p>Of course, it didn’t sound like a threat, Tim noted. It was all in the way Daisy looked all too hopeful that whatever Tim had would not be worth it, and that she could get her kicks. So Tim slid the statement over his desk with his index finger. </p><p>‘Read it and weep, statement of Eugene Vanderstock, on the creation of Agnes… and the death of Gertrude.’ He intoned, realising this statement could be more than a distraction for these two investigators. </p><p>This could be… significant, in some way.</p><p>Basira plucked it up like it might sting her, but she read quickly. Her expression darkened with every word.</p><p>‘“I hope, when it is time, we may burn you forever, Gertrude”’ Basira finished, shaken and confused. ‘Tim, what the hell does this prove?’</p><p>‘Call yourself a detective? Isn’t it obvious? Jude did it.’</p><p>Daisy scoffed. </p><p>Basira narrowed her eyes. </p><p>‘Oh yeah? How’d you come to that conclusion?’</p><p>She tossed the statement back onto Tim’s desk, and he pulled it back to him so he could point out the important lines.</p><p>‘“You just better hope it isn’t Jude who comes to collect,” “Jude simply flies into a rage when it’s brought up”, Jude’s “<em>besotted </em> with Agnes,” “we have allowed Jude free rein,” “whatever you did, and whatever protection it might have afforded you is <b>severed</b> with Agnes’s death”, come on, I’m calling it now.’</p><p>Basira’s gaze was pointed. ‘That’s… not evidence.’</p><p>Tim balled his fists, suddenly enraged.</p><p>‘Oh, it’s not evidence now, but an off-hand little comment is enough to see Sasha in trouble-’</p><p>Daisy crossed her arms, flexing the muscles in her biceps.</p><p>‘Then why did she run?’</p><p>Tim gestured to Daisy, but restrained himself from yelling.</p><p>‘Look. There’s your motivation, and a capable killer, who wanted Gertrude dead. Let’s go find her.’</p><p>Basira clicked her tongue. ‘No, hang on. Explain. What’s the motivation here?’</p><p>Tim ran his hands through his hair and resisted pulling it out in tufts.</p><p>‘Are you kidding me?’</p><p>‘No. What the hell did Gertrude have to do with Jude? Spell it out for us, if it’s so obvious.’</p><p>Tim swallowed. His new instincts were strong, but they were not articulate.</p><p>Basira and Daisy hunted monsters down. That’s what they did, and that’s what Tim was counting on. And that’s why he couldn’t let on exactly what he was.</p><p>So he rolled his eyes like it was obvious.</p><p>‘As we’ve seen, there’s different cults that seem to worship the same ideal, okay? So, Vanderstock’s talking about his lot, and they seem really different to the Taxidermists, and they both seem really different to the Circus. But even though they're different cults, it's all the same idea, really.’</p><p>‘Which is,’ Basira prompted, and Tim only failed for a second.</p><p>‘The fear… that your identity…’ he pushed the eye as hard as he could, and found nothing. He tried to think. ‘That your identity is… mutable. In some way. Or… meaningless.’</p><p>He shook his hands in the air like he might pull an answer out of it.</p><p>‘Okay, because from where I’m sitting it looks like Jude’s cult’s just really into fire.’</p><p>‘What? No!’ Tim was close to laughing. ‘No, right I get it, but this is deeper than that. It’s still about skin, really, just as much as The Circus and the Taxidermists.’</p><p>Daisy snorted. ‘As if.’</p><p>Frustrated, Tim read aloud from the statement, reiterating the key details. ‘“Layer after layer of skin and muscle and bone were one by one destroyed,” right, that’s the heart of the fear, right there. This whole… terror that, maybe, you can just lose yourself. Destroy the body, destroy the self, right?’</p><p>‘Ooh, alright professor Stoker, very clever. How does it help us?’ Daisy pressed.</p><p>Tim sighed.</p><p>‘So, working theory is that there’s some infighting going on in the… I don’t know, followers? Of this fear? I mean, they don’t seem a particularly stable lot, it wouldn’t seem out of the question that earlier divisions might have formed different cults, so… yeah, I, I, <em> reckon </em> Gertrude’s playing one cult for protection from the other, and she probably needed it considering she stole the Taxidermists’ skin, but once this cult’s golden girl died, they withdrew support. And this Jude woman took it personally, and went after her.’</p><p>Basira sighed. ‘That’s a pretty story, Tim, but it’s not an investigation.’</p><p>Tim cocked his head.</p><p>‘Well maybe it would be if you showed me the tapes in that briefcase.’</p><p>Daisy looked to Basira, who nodded. The interaction was slight, little more than a flick of the eyes and a twitch of the neck, but Tim caught it, and set the information aside for safekeeping. </p><p>‘Fine.’ Daisy slammed the briefcase down on Tim’s desk, sending a few statements flying. Uncaring, she flicked open the clasps, and opened it.</p><p>Tim cast his eyes inside, and quickly counted fifteen tapes before he dipped his hand in the case.</p><p>‘You-! Tim! Fingerprints!’ Basira leapt forward and snatched at Tim by the wrist. ‘These were from the evidence locker, they’re not meant to be removed, I could be sacked for that-!’</p><p>Tim shrugged, and went back to rummaging through the tapes like they were in a fussy record store.</p><p>‘Oh, whatever, as if we were ever getting those back.’ Basira gave in, and Tim looked up at her innocently.</p><p>‘Yeah, that wasn’t happening.’</p><p>He felt the jolt that always went through him when he found just what he was looking for, and he closed his fingers around the tape. He quickly loaded it into the player, and Gertrude’s even, canny voice filtered through the old speaker. </p><p>‘Case 0141010, Sebastian Skinner. Incident occurred in Gwydir Forest, North Wales, September 2014. Statement given 10th of October, 2014. Committed to tape 4th of April, 2015. Gertrude Robinson recording.’</p><p>Tim had struck gold. </p><p>He tried not to let it show on his face, but Tim had hit the jackpot, won the lottery, and got off scot free all in one go. He kept his face concentrated as he listened, and tried not to drum his fingers against the table too incessantly. </p><p>He let it show when he became paralysed with terror. The mocking glance Basira and Daisy shared at his expense was one he let them have. He had secured his place, he was not a threat, and he had answers they didn’t need to beat out of him.</p><p>And he truly was constricted with terror. The Circus, the Taxidermists, and the Destruction, three elements of the fear that persisted Tim most ardently of all. The date of the statement stuck out to Tim. Skinner’s experience with the mannequin, and the skin, and the puppets all turning to face him could be dated to a year after Danny’s own face was stolen. Among the broken and the dead, the mangled and the rotting, the face of Tim’s brother could have been one with the tortured expression and the pleading glass eyes. If they’d cared to keep it, of course.</p><p>So he let Daisy and Basira watch him freeze and blink away tears that always seemed to catch him unawares. He only needed to keep it together long enough to lead them to the thing that led him to the Institute in the first place.</p><p>‘I think you’ll find,’ he started, gathering himself together. ‘That is the point, proven. Tim, one, investigators, nil.’</p><p>Daisy banged a fist on the desk. ‘What are you talking about?’</p><p>The sound rang like a shot, and Tim flinched back, scrambling to remain seated. His feet found the floor and he found his balance, breathing evenly and deeply. </p><p>Daisy trained her gaze on Tim, and stepped back. She tried again. ‘Jude was there, she’s clearly implicated in some murders, but Gertrude said herself. No human remains.’</p><p>‘Think bigger, Daisy! Gertrude identified Jude, we know now that Jude switched cults to get at Gertrude. After Agnes died, Jude switched from the cult protecting Gertrude to the one they were protecting her from, the… she calls them the Stranger. So Jude’s with the Stranger so she can get revenge on Gertrude because her cult used to protect Gertrude but she had something to do with the death of a key member. Can you please see that that’s a stronger reason to kill someone than… whatever you think Sasha did it for?’</p><p>‘Sasha,’ Daisy spat the name, venomous. ‘Ran. Innocents don’t run.’</p><p>‘They do when they think you'll send them down for it anyway.’ Tim muttered. Then he felt the force of Daisy and Basira’s glare. </p><p>His heart pounded.</p><p>‘And, we know where Jude was last. Seeing as Gertrude was killed, I don’t see why she’d move her base.’</p><p>‘I don’t see why she wouldn’t.’ Basira countered.</p><p>‘It’s an hour’s drive. What’s the harm in looking?’</p><p>It was another hour where they could keep their eyes on him, and tear him to pieces if he looked a bit funny.</p><p>‘Fine. Come on then. Unless you want to sit this one out?’ Basira challenged with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>‘And miss the fireworks? Wouldn’t dream of it.’</p><p>He pulled on his jacket, and followed the cops back to the car.</p><p>He waved to Jon as he sailed though reception. Tim beamed at Jon, who looked back at him with a pained, hollow expression. He still smiled though, something fragile and something brave.</p><p>‘Tim!’ He called him back, and Tim bounded over. Jon flustered, and pulled out his book. It was a truly impressive tome, leatherbound and weathered. Tim tried to peak over the edge, but Jon guarded the pages without realising.</p><p>‘Let me sign you out. As I’ve been trying to explain all morning, there is a procedure to be followed.’ He shot a look behind Tim, who was torn between shushing Jon for his own good, or laughing aloud.</p><p>‘Oops, sorry boss! Slipped my mind. Won’t happen again.’</p><p>Jon coughed, and quickly jotted something down in the book. ‘Do you know when you expect to return?’</p><p>Tim shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d bet on the odds of returning at all.</p><p>‘Um… let’s say midday.’</p><p>Jon pushed his gold wire glasses back up his nose, and took a note.</p><p>‘And where are you going?’</p><p>‘That’s… you don’t actually need that written down!’ Tim exclaimed, delighted as Jon tried to justify himself.</p><p>‘No, it is when it’s- you’re on the clock, Tim, it’s pretty relevant information! You’re not on break, you don’t just get to head out for a few hours to nowhere for no reason. Tim!’</p><p>Tim chuckled, and relented. It was the kind of information he wanted on record anyway, probably. ‘Havering. Chasing up a lead. You can put that down too.’</p><p>Jon pursed his lips. ‘You know, I think I will.’</p><p>Tim said his goodbye, and got back into the back seat of the car. Daisy and Basira were waiting in the front. Tim texted Martin.</p><p> </p><p>Tim: Following a lead with the pigs. Wish me luck. X</p><p> </p><p>Marto: jfc u could warn a guy!!!!!!!!!!</p><p>Marto: i’d say have fun but</p><p>Marto: stay safe? </p><p>Marto: oh thats worse. </p><p>Marto: keep me posted. and send pics/records/whatever, i think im getting somewhere with this! Xxx</p><p> </p><p>Tim: amazing!!! Ilu xxxx</p><p> </p><p>They hadn’t said it out loud. Tim wasn’t sure he was going to. But it was something he felt, and it might mean something in case… in case. He wasn’t going to dwell on it, but he’d escaped the Circus once before. He wasn’t sure he’d be allowed to leave again. But he had to go, and at least he wouldn’t be a mystery this way. Not like Danny.</p><p>But he had to come back. They’d find Sasha without him, and he liked the shape of the life he was beginning to make. He had to come back. He resolved himself above all to come back.</p><p>‘So, you keep talking about cults like you know all about them.’ Basira prompted.</p><p>‘I do.’ Tim replied.</p><p>‘So, are you gonna tell us?’ Daisy pushed.</p><p>It was fascinating to see how they worked. It was always push and pull with those two. Tim sighed, and resigned himself to explaining.</p><p>‘So, there’s like, probably endless cults, but the ones we’re worried about are all about fear. So there’s obviously millions of phobias, and they don’t come to anything. And then there’s this stuff, which is next level, right? So, there’s like, three fears. You have the fear of madness, which seems to come from doors, and spirals, and spooky laughter, and it comes out of the dark with its knife hands and it’s just really nasty. I don’t think that one has a cult, he’s kind of his own guy, I think.’</p><p>‘Serial killer who works alone?’ Daisy offered.</p><p>‘Nah,’ Tim explained, enthusiastic suddenly. ‘He… he called himself delusion incarnate. This one guy represents the whole fear. Maybe there’s others like him, but they don’t work together.’</p><p>‘Right.’ Basira acknowledged, happy to move on.</p><p>‘Then there’s bugs, and disease, and rot. Elias called that one Corruption, which is probably ironic because there’s definitely something up with him.’</p><p>Daisy snickered. ‘What, like he runs the place and he looks about twelve?’</p><p>Tim laughed too.</p><p>‘Yeah, someone definitely bought him that position. Still, at least he knows something about some of this shit, and he can’t be all bad if he’s helping us stop it.’</p><p>Daisy nodded sagely. ‘That’s true.’</p><p>‘So the Corruption,’ Basira insisted.</p><p>‘Yeah, I don’t know what else I can say. Prentiss was kinda her own gal, too. Or, she shared her cult with 56 billion worms and called it a community. She was kinda fixated on being loved, and being able to provide. I guess that’s the underlying fear, you know, that you’re only worth what you can give, and it manifests in the way that… exposes that for the toxic idea it is.’</p><p>‘Huh.’ Basira mused. ‘Very poetic.’</p><p>Tim didn’t like to think about poetry and the Corruption in the same sentence. He didn’t like to think about what it was about Martin that drew in Prentiss and her kind. Nothing he could see in the man now, at least.</p><p>‘So then you have the Stranger, I guess. I mean, I’ve been calling it the Circus because- that’s- um, I’ve been calling it the Circus but I guess the Stranger works better anyway because that one takes on the most diverse appearances. I’ve been… struggling with this one because I only encountered it once, and I… I wasn’t exactly taking notes. So, skin, dolls, mannequins, books made of skin, puppets, puppet strings, the Mother of Puppets, clowns, god, how’d I forget clowns, um… what else… oh! Oh yeah, um, calliopes, and… generally weird music? Weird aesthetics? Like, the uncanny!’</p><p>‘Or… skinning someone?’ Basira offered.</p><p>Tim shuddered. ‘Or that. Yeah, so, underlying fears about identities i guess. Of not, being yourself… or changing, or being changed, or others around you changing. Um, I think.’</p><p>Basira turned around in the passenger seat to look at him.</p><p>‘So, you’re telling me, there’s three fears. And its bugs, madness, and skin. And that's it.'</p><p>Tim nodded. He wasn’t going to tell her about the Eye. They could never know what sort of monster he was. But Basira looked right through him, and for a second, he wondered if she already knew.</p><p>‘That… doesn’t sound right.’</p><p>‘What do you mean?’</p><p>‘Okay, well what about death? That’s a major fear.’ She countered.</p><p>Tim sighed. ‘Yeah, but dying is a natural thing, and so is fearing that. It’s not- it’s not about how many people fear it, it’s about the fears worshiped by these cults.’</p><p>Basira looked at him, perplexed. ‘That… really doesn’t sound right-’</p><p>Suddenly, Daisy spoke up.</p><p>‘I got hit with Section 31 when me and my old partner, before Basira, found a coffin in the back of a van doing 25 miles an hour on the motorway. He opened it up, and walked right in. Door closed behind him, and he was gone.’</p><p>Tim was appalled.</p><p>In the rear view mirror, Tim saw Daisy’s eyes flick up and meet his own.</p><p>‘So, which one’s that?’</p><p>Tim floundered for a minute.</p><p>‘Uh, uh, a coffin, you say?’</p><p>‘Mmhm.’ Daisy sounded satisfied that she might have stumped him.</p><p>‘Opened…. Opened a door, disappeared. Um. How do you walk into a coffin?’</p><p>‘There were stairs inside it, going all the way down, even though we had the coffin out on the ground.’</p><p>Tim snapped his fingers. ‘Easy, that’s the Madness right there. Impossible door, impossible architecture, open the door and never come out? That’s Madness.’</p><p>They played that way with almost every conceivable fear or phobia, and Tim knew, he just knew, when they were offering up their own. And with a little thinking, a little connecting of the dots, Tim could sort just about anything into the three fears.</p><p>The hour passed more quickly than it could have, and they pulled up in front of the town centre.</p><p>‘Now what?’</p><p>Tim hated it when they posed the question.</p><p>Without a word, he pulled out his phone and started looking up recent fires in Havering, and there were a handful of incidents in Havering Country Park. He showed the officers, and they shrugged. There was precious little else to go on.</p><p>They walked in an increasingly comfortable trio, each taking it in turns to be the one to throw a sceptical eye on the plan.</p><p>‘It’s probably just teenagers,’ Tim exclaimed, as they approached the park. It was green, and peaceful, and well tended.</p><p>The base of the sign pronouncing it Havering Country Park was scorched.</p><p>Daisy and Basira resumed their stances, and Tim looked behind them. </p><p>There was Jude, wearing nothing but a tank top and knee length shorts in the frozen winter air.</p><p>She grinned a sharp and half smile, clapped her hands together, and Tim swore they sparked and smoked like struck flint.</p><p>She tilted her head back and laughed, a mirthful, high pitched sound. Tim could look at her and see another person, one who’d fit in at a fancy do, like one from university. </p><p>She stopped laughing and looked past Daisy and Basira to glare at him. The frozen air rose by degrees and Tim felt so very unprotected from the elements by that fine boundary called a skin.</p><p>She was getting closer, and the flame within her could blister the skin from his body.</p><p>Daisy and Basira gasped, and she chuckled again. </p><p>‘Knew your nosy lot would come poking around eventually, but I really didn’t think you’d bring bodyguards. Very clever. Let’s get acquainted.’</p><p>She stuck out her hand and offered it.</p><p>‘Jude Perry. Pleasure to meet you all, I’m sure.’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Up in Smoke</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bonus content in the notes!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tim smiled, sheepish, and flinched from the pleasantries Jude offered, especially her smouldering hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe… some other time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scowled, and let her hands drop to her sides and squared her shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know, it’s just that I’d like to keep my skin.’ He explained quickly, gesturing to his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed, and this time it sounded cruel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You think I’d need to touch you to burn everything you are to a cinder?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim opened his mouth to argue, or question, or just ask her what that meant when the heat radiating through the air began to burn on contact with his skin. He tried to brush the burning heat off his arms, or off his face, but his hands were themselves hot, and the motion was useless. He tried to take deep breaths, but he only scalded his nose and mouth. He couldn’t breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He whimpered, and Jude cooed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through the tears of pain gathering in his eyes, he saw Jude size Daisy up, and he knew a fight was soon to break out. He had to do something, collect evidence, get what he came here for- what he really came here for- and prove that Jude killed Gertrude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jude-’ he gasped, and choked. She chuckled, and leaned in to watch as he tried to do something about the pain enveloping him. Daisy and Basira looked on from either side of him, fascinated and struck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sucked in a lungful of burning air. ‘Please, stop, I- I’m sorry!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jude laughed again, out loud and right in his face, aflame. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you really with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>?’ Jude asked Daisy, looking her up and down. She smiled gently, and raised an eyebrow, as Tim </span>
  <em>
    <span>burned </span>
  </em>
  <span>without a lick of flame to show for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She’s with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ Basira asserted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without hesitation, Daisy nodded, sharply, and Jude stepped back and rubbed her thumb over her chin as she appraised the trio in front of her. She looked contemplative as she took in Basira’s appearance compared to Daisy’s, then back again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is that so?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ Daisy growled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jude!’ Tim panicked. He dropped to his knees under the weight of pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked down at him with eyes that sparkled with glee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please!’ He begged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to free his skin of the burn, the fire he couldn’t see even as it consumed him whole, but the friction itself only burned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please… what?’ Jude asked, so innocent and playful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flanking him, Basira and Daisy watched as he crumpled. They were powerless to this unseen attack that could not be hit, or shot, or extinguished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please, I- I- I’ll shake your damn hand, please, I- anything-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, archivist, I was just trying to be polite. So glad you’re ready to be as well.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The temperature cooled and the burning heat bled out from Tim’s limbs slowly, like it should linger. He shuddered in the cold and he examined his hands. They weren’t blistered or warped, nor was the skin sloughing away like he feared. He took a shuddering breath and began to shiver in the cold winter’s daytime. The wind picked up and blew the dust of dead leaves from off the trees in the park, leaving the bony branches bare against the grey sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Chilly?’ Jude smirked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the ground, Tim looked at her with a thousand questions in his eyes, swimming with tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fuck off. What the hell was that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instantly, she began to answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘The Desolation. Blackened Earth. The destructive, agonising heat of burning flesh and land scoured of life. The light, the comfort of fire stripped from it, leaving nothing but the terror of its approach. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My</span>
  </em>
  <span> God.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim stayed down on the floor, unable to trust himself to stand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So, you burned down Gwydir Forest last year.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes,’ Jude hissed, and Tim pressed on before she could hurt him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop that! And it was because Nikola Orsinov asked us to. She was done with the place, and we’re always happy to help, when that help is destroying something someone loves.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim stuttered on his words, feeling Basira’s glare pierce him from his position at her feet. Between her, Daisy, and Jude, he knew he was a single misstep from certain death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Or-orsinov… the ringleader.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes…’ Jude began, slyly. ‘Ever the clown, no matter the face. Great fun, loved what she did with the place too, but you couldn’t run with her forever, of course. Had to move on after Gwydir.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right, so it was… it was just just a short term collaboration then.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course. I have my god, and I’m pretty sure she </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> her’s.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed then, wistful, and the air dropped a few degrees more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something clicked with Tim, then, some spark of inspiration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What, like your Agnes-?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jude snarled. ‘Shut up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh. Have I hit a nerve?’ He tested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She narrowed her eyes. ‘Hard to say when </span>
  <em>
    <span>every</span>
  </em>
  <span> nerve ending’s on fire. As you know. Or do you need a reminder?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Thanks, but no thanks.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then leave Agnes out of it. You wouldn’t understand.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She breathed through her nose and out through her mouth. There were two questions he could ask Jude, and he got the feeling he’d only be able to ask one before all hell broke loose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could ask her why she killed Gertrude Robinson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, he could ask her what the hell she was doing standing around in the park waiting for a showdown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he looked at Jude, trying so hard to keep her cool, and he remembered Basira and Daisy at his sides and he remembered why they came here, and what was at stake if he left without it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jude, why did you kill Gertrude?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She spluttered for a moment, outraged, or just confused, and Basira and Daisy stood to attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You… you </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot.</span>
  </em>
  <span>’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim’s jaw went slack. His heart started to race.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good God, you were really counting on that, weren’t you? I can feel it, you know, your hopes,’ she covered her mouth with her hand, before erupting in laughter. ‘All up in flames!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No! No, you killed her!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why ever would I do a thing like that?’ All humour drained now, she sounded suspicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your cult was protecting her, but you switched to the Stranger to get revenge on Gertrude after she got Agnes killed-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No sooner had the word left his lips and Tim regretted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took one purposeful stride towards him, hands sparking, and he only had a second to try to crawl away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, I warned you,’ her voice was low and her hand shot forward towards Tim. He tried to dodge, but she caught him easily, and she grasped a fistful of Tim’s shiny black hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He screamed and tried to twist away from her, but her grip held firm. His hair went up in flames and the smoke and the stench filled his nose and eyes and he could do nothing more than scream. Instinctively, he put his hands to hers to pull her away, but he could not get close to her. As his burnt hair crumbled between her fingers, she gripped more, closer to his scalp and burning all the more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She yanked hard, forcing his face up so he couldn’t hide his streaming eyes and ash streaked cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t. Don’t you ever speak of her again. You don’t even know enough to have her name. You have no idea what you’re talking about, how wrong you are, how ignorant-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim nodded, feeling his hair smoulder and break in her grip, feeling the heat pouring through him and crying in earnest now. The pain, the terror, his own helplessness… he felt lightheaded, and he couldn’t breathe clean air, he choked on the stench of burnt hair smoking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You stupid, arrogant, pathetic-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She towered over him, and Tim saw the end he was unable to escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gunshot interrupted her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her eyes went wide. She gasped, and before he could think, Tim jerked his head and broke her grip on him. He fell heavily onto his back, and pushed himself backwards putting as much space between himself and Jude as he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scrambled up into a sitting position, and looked around for the smoking gun, for the next assailant, and saw Daisy standing behind Jude, ready to shoot again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jude didn’t drop. She stood exactly where she was, and Tim saw the gory exit wound in the middle of her forehead melt back together. She wiped the blood from the surface of her skin with the back of her hand, and then it was gone. Her smile was all teeth, and her eyes were truly bright as she turned around to face Daisy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy shot again. And again. And again. Jude drew near, taking her time. Her footsteps left smoking footprints in the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stupid hunter, don’t you know its madness to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy growled as she shot again. She’d gone through the head, the heart, the stomach, and nothing had halted her slow progress forward. Behind Daisy, Tim spotted Basira taking cover behind the tree Daisy braced herself up against, taking shots at Jude while Daisy reloaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This wasn’t how I thought it would end,’ she shouted over the shots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This isn’t how it ends,’ Daisy promised her, as Jude closed in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, of course not.’ Jude mocked. She held her hand an inch from Daisy’s cheek, letting her feel the heat like a promise, like a threat. Daisy tilted her jaw back, and sneered at Jude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her fingertips ghosted Daisy’s face, but she only brushed her fingers over a fallen strand of hair, singeing it as she tried to tuck it behind Daisy’s ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No. Because this </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> how you always thought it would happen. You think you’ll die protecting her, giving her time to escape, but no. That's not how this works.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quick as a flash, Jude dashed to the other side of the tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Daisy!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy dashed around to see Jude wait while Basira emptied a round of bullets into her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you quite done?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Daisy!’ Basira screamed, looking over with wide eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy only needed to see those eyes, that face, hear her name from Basira to try anything she could, no matter what. She was out of bullets, every last one of them lodged in Jude’s wax body, so she ran forward and shoved Jude with everything she had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jude feinted, Daisy overbalanced, and with a burning hand Jude pushed Daisy to the dirt. Painfully, she turned herself over onto her back, and in the moment it took her to reorient herself, she could see Jude half an inch away, the slightest touch, from destroying everything Daisy had ever loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Jude deliberately looked over at her as she reached for Basira with smouldering, seething hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Basira stared defiantly at Jude, who, while distracted by the loss and the terror in the air, did not hear Tim sneaking up behind her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy looked on, Basira looked behind Jude at Tim, who sharply brought the heel of his boot down onto the backs of Jude’s knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She collapsed with a confused swear, and Basira took off. Daisy and Tim sprinted behind her, Tim stumbling over the melted sole of his shoe, so Daisy hoisted him up under one arm and they ran like that to the cop car, feeling the fire at their backs as Jude shrieked after them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But their head start was enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car door handle was burning hot, but they threw open the doors and clambered in, Basira started the car and they sped off, watching Havering Park blaze behind them in the rearview mirror. The smoke poured into the sky, and the barren treetops blazed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were safe. Jude was behind them now. Just out of reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim balled his fists and stifled a cry of rage through gritted teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy turned to face him in the passenger seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You hurt?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ Tim replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s the problem,’ Basira asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘She… she got away. After everything she did, she got away. It’s not right.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hissed through his teeth, and shrugged harshly. ‘It’s not fair.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, Daisy laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tim, it was getting real ugly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it in my life. And look at us! Barely need medical attention. We did well.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim nodded, but he couldn’t quite agree. Daisy seemed to understand. ‘Besides, as soon as we figure out how to kill something like her, we’ll get her.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled, and a pact was formed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Not before we figure out who really killed Gertrude, though.’ Basira reminded them. Daisy rolled her eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim tensed up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So, we can gather it wasn’t her, and that her… lightless flame is different to the stranger, even if they can work together sometimes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. So, back to the drawing board, is it?’ Basira asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim sighed. ‘Looks like it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ll figure it out.’ She assured him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, but not before we go wash up. We can drop you back at your place, can’t we Basira?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim nodded. ‘Oh, I cannot go back to work like this, Jon would hit me with a dress code violation so strong I'd end up in jail.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they finally stopped outside of his apartment block, it felt natural for Tim to invite them in. They sat on the sofa while Tim made tea, and left them to drink it together while he showered. Ash and soot and a few broken strands of hair swirled down the drain, and he watched them, dazed. Then he left the shower, dried off, and walked to his bedroom, hearing Daisy and Basira chat in his living room with only the faintest impulse to listen in at the door. He changed into a hoodie and joggers, and joined them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stopped talking to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tim, do you have any clippers?’ Basira asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim ran his palm over his uneven, scorched hair. ‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You need a haircut, you look like you have mange.’ Daisy told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed, and then he pursed his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was growing this out for years.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went to the bathroom to get his electric razor and a towel, and Daisy and Basira followed him in. Daisy lingered in the doorway, and Basira took the electric razor from him. He sat on the edge of the bath, draped the towel over his shoulders, and she began to shave away the uneven clumps of hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I started growing it out after my brother died. It was the Stranger. We were… he loved urban exploration, the sort of thing you two I guess wouldn’t approve of.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’re really not very good cops,’ Daisy admitted, ‘I doubt we’d have done anything about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe you should have. In the end, he stumbled in on something he shouldn’t have. Next thing I know, all he can do is talk about clowns, and draw clowns, and stare into space. Totally lost. Next night, he was gone, and I knew where. Followed him back to under the Royal Opera House and it was… it was hell on earth under there. I saw them… I saw them pull his skin clean off him, like it was a jumper or something, and then… I ran away. I had a leaflet in my hands when I got out, it was for The Circus of The Other, which I guess you could say it was. It burned to ash in my hands a second later.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The electric razor was a small implement, and it would take Basira a while to shave all the hair. She hummed in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So it makes sense, then, to put Stranger and Fire together.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s just… not how they see it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Apparently not.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Reckon that matters? How they see it? Who knows, maybe they are the same thing after all.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I… maybe. Still, that doesn’t solve a case.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She agreed again, and Tim pulled out his phone and texted Martin. He told him everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The metal teeth of the electric razor skimmed the nape of his neck. He could feel Basira’s hand on his shoulder, the hair falling away, and he grounded himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I… always wanted long hair. Our Dad always hated it, but Danny just, never cared. After he died, I didn’t care anymore either. I think he would have been glad? That I did what I wanted, in the end? You know, life’s too short kind of thing?’</span>
  <span>His voice was wobbling, and he couldn’t stop it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Um… in that statement I showed you. I put the dates together. If Orsinov kept all those skins and mannequins until they burned in 2014… I… I lost my brother in 2013. So, it’s reasonable to assume that he- he was probably one of them. Um… Skinner said they were… alert. Until the end.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He clenched his fists, felt the squeeze and the grounding pain, listened to the buzz and felt the firm grip on his shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Until Jude set them all on fire. God, didn’t he suffer enough? Did he have to die twice? Did I have to run away again? When do these things pay for what they do to the rest of us?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His hair fell in black cut crescents in the bathtub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know, Tim. But they will. And I’m sorry, really.’ Basira didn’t know how to do condolence, but from her, the effort meant something to Tim. It was because she didn’t have to try, but she still did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jude’s days are numbered, Tim. You can get justice for your brother.’ Daisy promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that felt right. Justice was only a matter of time with these two at his side.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>She collapsed on Mike Crew's sofa, and uncorked the champaign. The alcohol burned, at least, so she could enjoy something of it. And it was well earned, of course.</p><p>He didn't look quite so excited.</p><p>'I thought you said you had a funny story, but it seems like all you're doing is gloating.'</p><p>'Oh, just because you haven't met the archivist yet. You'll love him, he's a total idiot.' She said with relish.</p><p>'Alright, alright, so come on, skip to the good bit.'</p><p>'So, after I get him crying and begging on his knees to hold my hand,'</p><p>'So far so self-congratulatory,' Mike snarked, but Jude powered on.</p><p>'He tells me. Oh it was so funny, he tells me I switched from Desolation to Stranger to kill Gertrude because she killed Agnes.'</p><p>Mike Crew knows how raw the subject of Agnes was for Jude. He had never heard her speak about her loss in such glib terms. It suited his predisposition well, in the grand scheme of things, it didn't really matter that Agnes no longer existed on planet Earth, however the absence ate at Jude.</p><p>But even she found this new archivist's miscalculation absurd. And Mike couldn't stop laughing.</p><p>'Does he... does he know that's not really possible? Jesus Christ, where'd he even get that from?'</p><p>Jude wiped a tear from her eye, one that had evaporated on contact with her waxy cheek. 'Oh, he heard about me and Orsinov's little liaison... totally had him thinking I'd up and swapped sides. Like it was the stranger who got that old bitch anyway.'</p><p>'Oh well, I guess they don't make archivists like they used to.'</p><p>'No,' Jude acquiesced. 'No, this one wouldn't last two seconds bound to the incarnation of the lightless flame. Fell to pieces when I burned his hair.'</p><p>Mike looked delighted. 'Oh you didn't!'</p><p>Jude nodded, proudly. 'Oh, I did though. Cried his eyes out all the way home, I bet.'</p><p>'You let him live?!'</p><p>Jude shrugged. 'Sure. Seemed harmless enough. Really, no idea why that Bouchard bloke paid me to stand out there just to play with his new archivist, but... whatever.'</p><p>'He paid you? In cash or like... the thrill of messing with his employee of the month?'</p><p>Jude tilted the champagne bottle towards Mike. 'I don't know, but I got money too so. I guess both!'</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Cause for Alarm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Once Tim left for Havering, Jon whiled away the rest of the day chatting to the librarians about their problems with students, and reflecting fondly on his days as a student. He wondered about Georgie, and sent her a quick text. It was about the cat. He just wanted to make sure there weren’t any hard feelings over the whole debacle, or over anything at all, really.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The message did not send. He put his phone back in his pocket. Signal was terrible in reception, everyone knew. He’d try again later, if he remembered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He scrolled through Facebook, for a while, before he got sick of seeing people fill up his timeline. Happy people, smiling people, people he… swore he didn’t actually know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closed the tab, and returned to his spreadsheet. He’d been neglecting it for some time now, but if Elias minded, he certainly didn’t care. Instead, he’d been using the analogue log for everything, he’d blame a computer error if he had to, but he got the impression that things didn’t really matter that much any more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps that was only his own entropy setting in. But it seemed like as long as the information was somewhere, no one minded exactly where he put it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was facing one of the blank pages in the back of the book. He had titled it Rosie, and he was trying to recall anything she had told him, anything at all. He tapped the ballpoint against the page, but nothing came to mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A cluster of blue dots filled the top corner of the page, and connected the dots with a line, making a little pattern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembered something she said, and wrote down in his cursive handwriting;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Don’t trust Elias. Don’t Correct Elias. Don’t work for Elias. Leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He examined the words. There were no more dots to connect, yet, so he just tried to reflect on them and come to some kind of conclusion as to why Rosie might say these things to someone she only met once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hi Jon, are you busy at the moment?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon startled easily, and the book flew out of his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Martin! Sorry, you surprised me. What can I do for you?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin smiled apologetically, and backed away from the desk a little. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, Tim just wanted me to let you know he’s taking the rest of the day off. His lead in Havering turned out… unexpectedly, from what I can gather? Um yeah, so, just wanted to pass that on. For your sign in sheet.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded, and picked up his book. He flipped to the log segment, and began to write a brief explanation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin peeked over the desk at the book, and his eyes narrowed. With Jon taking notes on everything, Martin would have to tread carefully. He wanted to get his hands on that book, but for now, he left Jon to his work, and then Martin went back to his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the archive, Martin was putting together a document. He scrolled past the images Tim had sent of his investigation in Barnet, the gory picture revolting him as it did every time he added something to the document. He attached the screenshots of the texts he received from Tim, timestamped, and dithered about with the formatting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook himself. It was hardly like there was a template for this kind of document. It didn’t have to look nice, it just had to work. It had to work, for his sake and Tim’s, this had to work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin planned to visit Havering Country Park, but he couldn’t go today. Absurdly, ludicrously, he was on the clock and he couldn’t arouse Jon’s suspicions, not if Jon was taking notes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, Martin cast his eye around the archives. He was alone, and yet he was as self conscious as he would be in a crowded room. There were two empty desks, one for Tim, one for Sasha, and he resolved himself to changing that fact no matter the cost. It sounded noble, but truly, Martin could not bear to be alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He messed about with his document though, created a chronological order starting with the most recent events and working his way back. He needed more information. He hoped Sasha could wait until he had it, and that Tim could keep playing his cards right until then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew where it was, too, but he just had to pick his moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bided his time until the workday ground to a halt, and for hours after that. He texted Tim, kept his mind off what had to be done, and assured Tim his buzzcut looked cool. He worried about what had to be done, and alternated between apps to keep himself distracted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He worried. And he distracted himself, and worried some more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And in the dead of night, he crawled out of his bed in document storage, and crept out of the archives, keeping close to the wall. Hardly daring to breathe, Martin followed the thread that had needled him almost as soon as he knew he needed data and evidence. It led him to Elias’ office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused, and thought about what he was doing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made sense, in a strange way, if Tim had an affinity with the archives that Martin could be… similarly inspired. He knew that whatever it was in Elias’ office, it was good if it was calling to him like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin bit his lip and tried the door. To his surprise, it was unlocked and opened readily, without a sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin followed his intuition to the unlocked desk, and finally felt the pull Tim was talking about. He let his hands rest in front of the drawers, and followed the guidance that pushed his shaking hands to the bottom drawer. He opened it, and followed the tug on his fingers towards a certain manilla file. He opened it and gasped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jackpot. Thank you… Eye?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At home, Elias set down a mug of chamomile tea on the nightstand on Jon’s side of the bed. Jon thanked him, and Elias got under the covers on his side. He watched Martin rifle through his desk and slip away, and smiled to himself as Jon sipped his tea and talked about his day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the Institute, Martin stashed the file away, and even from here, Elias could feel Martin’s gratitude to the Eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was such a shame to give credit to the Eye where it really wasn’t due.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon stopped talking, and turned off the light. He turned away from Elias, and closed his eyes. Elias watched Martin diligently digitise the file and replace it just as furtively as he’d stolen it, looking behind him and around every corner, flinching at every flickering shadow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias watched Martin all night, and Jon, as usual, did not sleep at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon poured coffee at Elias breakfast bar. They both drank it quickly, and in relative silence. Jon wasn’t really present in the mornings. Elias was always wide awake, so he showered first, and got dressed quickly. Jon had more time to come around, and took his medicine with breakfast. He blinked sleep from his eyes, and got ready for the day in a kind of stupor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he was pouring coffee at work. By the second coffee, he was a little more with it, usually. He was usually with it enough to recognise the head archivist of the Magnus Institute, but not today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry, but the Magnus Institute is not open to the public until-’ He began in a well rehearsed stream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim didn’t pay him any attention, and continued to stride through reception. His bracelets and dangly earrings jingled as he marched through the hall, and he flashed Jon a defiant smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Good thing I’m not the public then!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was taken aback. ‘Tim! Wow, I- I- You look-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim had thought very carefully about what he looked like today. His hair was so short, and he felt so tall in his body that for the first time in a while, it felt important to dig out his old earrings, paint his nails and put on something… something…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I look?’ The words came out rough, with an edge of the defenses Tim put up, and he knew Jon would be giving him his most honest opinion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim wasn’t sure he wanted to know how he looked to Jon, but he needed to hear it. He could feel how Jon’s heart was racing in his chest, how he was at a loss for words, how Jon felt afraid right now just sharing a space with him, and Tim narrowed his eyes and focused. There was something Jon did not want to say right now, something he wanted to keep to himself, something Tim desperately needed to hear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You look-’ Jon spluttered, unable to take his eyes off Tim. Tim braced himself as Jon struggled against the compulsion, and he waited to hear what was so unspeakable that Jon would fight so hard to stay quiet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘P-pretty.’ He finally heaved out. He winced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone like Tim before in his life. He recognised the outfit, but Tim usually wore that button up undone with a black t-shirt, rather than tucked in high waisted skinny jeans, belted at the waist. The jewellery was new, and Jon stared at the earring skimming Tim’s shoulder to avoid looking the man in the eye. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pretty.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It might be true, but that didn’t mean Jon could just say it out loud. He waited for Tim’s reaction, clenching his jaw, willing himself not to say any more, dig a hole any deeper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim blushed, and slowly eased, leaning on Jon’s desk as normal. A smile spread wide across his face, and he looked down at Jon, who studiously examined the claw marks on his desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Pretty?’ Tim ran his palm over his buzzed hair. This morning he’d felt anything but. He couldn’t say he felt the same now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon gripped the seat of his chair and desperately tried to say something coherent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I said you look- you look pr-pretty late for work, so I’ll sign you in. Go- go to the archives, Tim!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim threw his hands up in surrender and the bracelets on his wrists clinked together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Alright, alright, you’re the boss.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon gathered as much of his composure as he could muster.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And if you’re following up any more leads, please remember to sign out.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim made some sounds of agreement over his shoulder as he sauntered down to the archives. Once he was certain he was gone, Jon cleared a space on his desk to plant his forehead onto the cool wooden surface, and tried his best not to scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Martin who went out in the middle of the day to investigate, but he came back at the time he promised Jon he’d return by, streaked with ash and soot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Where on earth have you been?’ Jon asked, disapproving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin only shrugged, ‘London’s just… so polluted! It’s terrible, really.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon raised an eyebrow, and let it go, only noting in the log; </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Blackwood;</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sign out; 11:26</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sign in; 13:52</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Note- Martin covered in ash + is a bad liar- did not press the issue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Subjects came in, subjects came out, Jon still couldn’t make them tea or do much to soften the experience of making a statement, and so the week drained away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon came to dread Saturdays, even before the infestation. He never knew what to do with himself over the weekends. Having come to the end of his first week back in work, Jon did not want to go back to nothing, and no one, not even for one day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he would tolerate it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He picked at the scab on his cheek unconsciously, drawing attention from the subjects in reception. He stopped and started, and tapped his fingers against the desk, and flipped through his log, finally settling and becoming absorbed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His job was no longer very interesting now that he essentially guarded an office and circulated a single visitor’s pass all day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it still beat rotting in front of a television screen in total silence. He felt anxious, and drummed his fingers against his mug. More subjects stared at him, waiting for Jon to realise how he disturbed the silence of a doctor’s waiting room that had settled in reception.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon didn’t like the atmosphere. He was sure it hadn’t always been like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everyone kept their coats on, and their arms folded. That too had not been an issue from the beginning. It was something that had crept in on Jon’s life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rain trickled in from the window, and pooled near the front door, no matter how tightly each were shut against the elements. The rain pressed in relentlessly, and Jon supposed there was no escape from such a thing, not in the middle of such a storm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The few subjects shifted in their black rain coats, glistening and shivering in reception, and Jon could do nothing to improve the situation. So he looked right through them and worried about his day off, and what he could possibly do then. Especially if the weather was here to stay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed, and the dejected sound echoed around the room, on the lips of every impatient, yet resigned subject.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And all turned to face the door when it burst open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man standing there wore shorts and a white t-shirt. His hair was sodden and dripping, his clothes stuck to his skin, translucent with the rain outside, and yet, the man did not look cold. He wasn’t shivering or shaking. Instead, as he stepped inside, he began to fan himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He approached the front desk, and Jon tried to put aside his questions. This was only a subject.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Welcome to the Magnus Institute-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Can you help me?’ The man rasped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was flummoxed for a second, before he stuttered out an appropriate answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Someone who can take your statement will be with you in a moment. L-let me sign you in, in the meantime.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man growled. ‘For God’s sake, I need help-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded, appeasing, as the man stepped closer. Everyone watched him, and Jon shrank back in his chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I- I’m sorry, wait times always go up in the rain! But if you just wait, um, help is at hand,’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man rubbed at his face and began to pace the length of Jon’s desk, swearing under his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘For fuck’s sake, can’t you listen to me?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon eyed his cane behind the desk, at his side. He didn’t fancy his chances at shooting up out of his desk chair and bolting, but he could see himself getting a decent hit in, if he was prepared to do it. Still, he was glad of the desk and the distance it put between himself and this man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m, I’m listening. Please, would you tell me your name?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Isiah.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon started to note it down in his log, but Isiah made a deeply frustrated sound. He reached to swat at it, and instinctively, Jon swiped the log from the desk on to the floor behind him, safely out of the man’s reach. It landed with a heavy sound, and Isiah, hand already raised, curled his hand into a fist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon flinched, hard, and stammered through the institute’s policy on abusing staff, but it trailed off as Isiah consciously lowered his fist like the effort hurt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon looked up and saw steam pouring off his body, as if he’d been running a marathon. Isiah took the bottom of his t-shirt and fanned himself. Jon frowned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Isiah, what is your problem exactly?’ Jon asked, sternly, masking a terrible dread.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man looked at Jon, and he looked helpless. He was halfway to taking his shirt off in reception, and he looked at Jon for some clue as to why he was here.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I- I’m too hot.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘That’s no excuse for public indecency. This institute will not tolerate-’ Jon squeaked, and Isiah’s shirt came off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘This is a serious institution! Unless you are here to make a statement, I recommend you go elsewh-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Isiah howled in anguish, or possibly pain, and Jon brinked on getting up and removing him physically, or trying to placate him. He wished he could go up and make a cup of tea. More than that, he wished the other subjects didn’t have to watch so intently. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘There was a fire, and- have you seen it on the news? Havering Park, all up in flames? I was there!’ He shouted, his body now dry of rain, but he looked sweaty. His face was flushed and wet and he kept fanning himself as best he could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I am so sorry to hear, that must have been extremely frightening for you. Isiah, we have a confidentiality policy we really must adhere to-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You have no idea, no idea what it was like. One minute, I was strolling in the park, the next, the whole world’s on fire. It came down from the trees, and there was nowhere to go. I… my dog ran off, but I don’t know where. There was… no where to go, the fire was everywhere. I can’t find my dog…’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A drop of water fell from Isiah’s hair onto his broad shoulder. It sizzled. He continued to pace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I don’t know… how </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> here… I don’t understand. And since then, there’s been fire, everywhere, just like then. It follows me now, everywhere I go. I need, I need help!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cried, desperately, and Jon wanted to help. Hell, this was the part of the job that was worth a damn to anyone other than him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Of course, Isiah. We can listen, and you can talk here, okay?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the man was incensed. ‘I don’t need to talk, I need help! My home caught fire, I lost everything I own, and now this? I feel like I’m burning! I see everything I own burning in my hands, and you want me to talk?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He curled a fist and slammed it on Jon’s desk. It smoked. Isiah recoiled in horror, and Jon pushed himself away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, please, you have to help me-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Isiah reached out for Jon’s hand, and Jon did not move fast enough. The contact was instantly agonizing, and Jon screamed out loud as his skin burnt where Isiah took his hand and squeezed it. He withdrew, swearing and apologising, and Jon watched as the burn took shape on his hand, tears streaming down his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, the waiting subjects were in disarray, talking to each other and asking each other what to do. The subject in Jon’s office, hearing the commotion, ran from the space and into reception. Isiah dived in, closing the door behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Immediately, smoke began to pour from under the door, and Jon pulled himself up heavily from his chair. The door was shut, and he raised his other hand to open it and see what Isiah was doing to his office, and force him to stop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the door handle was metal, and it would burn him to touch it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fire alarm went off, the sound executing all thoughts in Jon’s mind. Carefully, he maneuvered around the desk and picked up his cane and his log from the floor. He began to enact the evacuation procedure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound, the feeling of the laminate sheet between his fingers, the panic. As subjects and staff stampeded out of the door Jon held for them, Jon knew he had done this before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought arrived with a jolt, like the throb of pain in his hand, and he couldn’t quash it down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fire alarm was like a conductor for his rising panic, and he remembered it from last time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The empty corridors, reception, deserted, while he looked for… for…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t remember when that had happened.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He finally shut the door behind him and took a role call outside. He used the employment records in his log book to list off the names.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unlike last time, no one was missing. Every one in every department stood accounted for in rows in the designated assembly point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No one was missing. Nothing was missing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except Jon’s memory of last time, when the same could not be said.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Too Close For Comfort</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tw: minor character death, dark themes</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The police found him quickly, needing a witness statement and something to go off for their new missing person’s case.</p><p>She stood in front of the Institute, facing Jon, notepad and pen posed to take his statement. It was a remarkable event for everyone else, but for Basira, strange disappearances and even stranger fires were fast becoming routine.</p><p>But she still didn’t like this. Her witness, the receptionist, sat on the steps in front of her, cane propped up next to him, and a leatherbound book opened on his knees. He held a pen, ready to take notes. She didn’t sit next to him, choosing instead to stand over him when she asked exactly what had happened.</p><p>But he wasn’t deterred in the slightest, and he didn’t break eye-contact as his unhurt hand swept across the page, covering it in illegible blue cursive.</p><p>‘I was in reception, it was… so it takes about five minutes to evacuate, and he was only there for five minutes, we’ve been waiting here for about twenty, so it must have been…’ Jon glanced at the watch on his wrist, and Basira caught a glance of his burned hand. She recoiled, inwardly. The burn was turning white, and ringed with red. Jon took no notice of it whatsoever.</p><p>‘It must have been 2.50 when he walked in. He was behaving… rather antisocially, and he wasn’t particularly receptive to the process of statement making. Or to our policies on staff abuse. There was a lot of verbal abuse, he recounted his experience in the Havering Park Fire that I’m sure you’re aware of, and then he attacked my desk and ran into my office. He shut the door behind him, and then the fire alarm went off.’</p><p>Basira took notes very quickly. She looked down at him over her notepad, and waited for him to go on.</p><p>‘I tried to open the door and see, but…’ He held up his burned hand. ‘Well, I left it shut.’</p><p>Basira furrowed her brow.</p><p>‘The door was open.’</p><p>Jon put down his pen for a second.</p><p>‘I’m sorry?’</p><p>‘We’ve just investigated. The door was open. Your office is completely destroyed, but reception’s untouched. Even though the door was wide open. The firefighter’s are pretty puzzled, they were all set to have to break the door down. So if you could explain how that is…’</p><p>Jon was already taking notes in a hurry. ‘Well, I don’t know, do I?’</p><p>Basira hummed.</p><p>‘And the other witnesses say that’s not how it happened.’</p><p>Jon was still writing, incessantly now, and he didn’t look up from his book when he asked, ‘how did they say it happened?’</p><p>Perhaps it was curiosity that got the better of Basira. Perhaps she just wanted to compare notes and get to the bottom of Isiah’s disappearance because another thing like Jude Perry shouldn’t be on the loose.</p><p>‘They said Isiah grabbed your hand and it… burned.’</p><p>Jon flinched, and took that down too.</p><p>‘I’m quite sure I remember reaching for the doorknob before I realised he was… before I properly assessed the risk.’</p><p>But he wrote it down, and now he was staring at the words. Basira abandoned her own notepad just to try and take a glance at the page, just to see what else was written there.</p><p>As she leaned forward, though, Jon slowly closed the book. She huffed, straightened up, and took the hint. He opened the book to the page and carried on writing.</p><p>‘So, one last time,’ she asked, remembering who was interviewing who, and who was conducting the interview. ‘What happened to Isiah?’</p><p>Jon sighed. ‘I know he walked into the Institute because… he wanted help. He didn’t want to talk, he wanted help. He intimidated me, and the other subjects in reception, and then he walked into my office. I don’t know what happened after that.’</p><p>But that wasn’t enough. So Basira pressed a little further.</p><p>‘And what do you think happened?’</p><p>‘Well, I don’t know-’</p><p>Basira shook her head. ‘You have an idea, though, don’t you?’</p><p>Jon shrugged, and drew up his legs to his chest.</p><p>‘I think he self immolated in my office.’</p><p>Basira nodded. ‘But there were no human remains found, and the door was wide open. The fire damage is localised to just your office, except for a nasty scorch on your desk. And at least three witnesses confirmed that Isiah grabbed you before he went to your office.’</p><p>Jon’s head shot up, and his glasses chain swung back and forth against his high cheekbones. He didn’t stop writing. </p><p>She didn’t like this anymore.</p><p>‘What aren’t you telling me?’ She asked.</p><p>Maybe he was covering for this Isiah, maybe he was working with him, or with people like him, maybe Jon was dangerous, maybe Basira should call Daisy over.</p><p>The way a smile cracked over his face, desperate and frustrated, definitely made Basira want to nod Daisy over. She just had to meet her eyes, and Daisy would be right there. She was talking to a witness. She only had to look, and Basira knew Daisy would be right by her side, and then they’d get whatever they needed from the receptionist, book and all. </p><p>She was so intent, she almost didn’t hear Jon admit something under his breath.</p><p>‘I don’t know.’ And he laughed a little, and went back to his book. Basira didn’t like it at all.</p><p>Jon looked at the facts, and he agreed with Basira, they just didn’t add up. Open doors that he left shut, burned men with no remains, irreparable damage in the only space he could truly call his alone… he had half a mind to speak to the officer’s witnesses himself, get the facts out of them too. </p><p>Because the facts he had didn’t make sense.</p><p>Basira looked him up and down one last time, before turning to leave.</p><p>‘Basira,’ he asked, almost shy. She tensed.</p><p>‘That’s PC Hussain to you.’</p><p>Jon nodded. ‘Of course.’</p><p>She ground her teeth as he took one final note. She didn’t know why, but the sound of the pen against the page made her want to rip it out of his hands and chuck it as far as she could.</p><p>‘What did you want?’</p><p>Jon shrugged again. ‘Good luck with your investigation, I hope you find some more helpful leads soon.’</p><p>She rolled her eyes.</p><p>Jon looked at his page. He could confirm that her name really was Basira, as he remembered from a day Elias promised him that he’d hallucinated. Basira, and her partner, had first set foot in the Institute the day Sasha had gone missing. The day she’d nearly kissed him, and she brought him cigarettes, and Elias promised him that she’d never set foot there that day.</p><p>But he remembered Basira’s name from that day. The day Elias promised him there was no investigation. No murder, no cops, no Sasha.</p><p>Jon gripped the pen and felt his heart pound. </p><p>There were the facts he knew, the words on the page, his own memory, and what he’d been told. There were immeasurable gaps between each of those. And then, there was what he didn’t know, what he couldn’t understand, what made no sense.</p><p>How was the door open if that man had burned to death there? Jon couldn’t open it, he was sure he’d tried and paid the price.</p><p>He looked back at the page, and remembered that everyone else in the room… had a very different perspective. </p><p>His hand thrummed with agony, and he ignored it, stabbing the pen into the top right corner of the page and desperately trying to think through the pain and the confusion.</p><p>That was probably why he snapped when he heard his name close by.</p><p>‘What?’</p><p>He lifted his eyes from the book that was making no more sense than when he started writing, and saw Elias flanked by two paramedics.</p><p>Jon froze. For just a second, he looked back down at what he’d written.</p><p>It was there in writing, Elias had lied to him about the police’s investigation that day. There was no way Jon could trust Elias on anything else, ever again. He slammed the book shut, and held it so tight with the one hand that his tendons were visible on the back of his hand. His other, of course, couldn’t grip anything.</p><p>He couldn’t look at Elias.</p><p>He couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. He felt nauseous, and hot all over.</p><p>The paramedic was talking to him.</p><p>‘Sir? Sir, you need medical attention, now. We’re taking you into the ambulance now, your hand-’</p><p>‘No!’ Jon shook one hand off his shoulder, and curled up, holding the book to his chest.</p><p>He had more to write down, more to work out. Nothing made sense, but all the answers were here, not in the ambulance, not in the hospital.</p><p>Elias was speaking, but Jon wasn’t listening.</p><p>‘Sir, please, you’re in shock and you’re not thinking clearly-’</p><p>That tore a laugh from Jon. ‘I’m thinking clearly for the first time in months, actually.’</p><p>Elias startled. Jon finally lifted his head from his knees and looked up at Elias. Jon’s face was ashen, and his dark eyes glittered. He smiled coldly, like he was baring his teeth. His dark, wavy hair slipped from his bun, and fluttered in the breeze. </p><p>‘Jon,’ he started, and Jon looked away, at the paramedic to Elias’ left.</p><p>‘Sir, this is your last chance, you need to come with us if you want that burn looked at. If you don’t, it could become infected, and you could die.’</p><p>Jon’s stare was vacant, if slightly amused. It was like the concept couldn’t stick at all. </p><p>Elias took a deep breath, slapped the book from Jon’s hands, and pulled him up from the steps by the waist. He touched him gently, but Jon shrieked, and pulled against Elias’ hold. Jon reached for his book on the floor. Elias kicked it away, and Jon screamed with frustration. </p><p>‘Let me go!’ He yelled.</p><p>‘For God’s sake, Jon, you heard the paramedics, you could die, and I’m not letting that happen. Come on.’ He hissed into Jon’s ear, as Jon thrashed.</p><p>‘Sir, sir, you can’t- you’re not allowed to make him, we can’t-’ One of the paramedics babbled.</p><p>‘Jon, everyone’s looking at us. You’re making a scene and this is totally unnecessary. Would you please calm down and get into the ambulance?’</p><p>All eyes were on them. Every single member of staff were outside the building, still evacuated, and beginning to whisper.</p><p>‘I hate you,’ Jon whispered into Elias’ ear. Elias loosened his grip, and Jon remained still. Elias let him go, and Jon turned to the paramedics.</p><p>‘Sir, are you, do you want to-’</p><p>Jon nodded, and the other paramedic, older, less shocked by the dramatics people pulled when they were in shock, quickly ushered him into the ambulance.</p><p>The doors closed on him, taking away the Institute, the crowd of coworkers, and his book, lying on the pavement.</p><p>Jon stared at the door, and offered his hand to the paramedic who wanted to look at it.</p><p>They were talking to him. Trying to tell him what kind of burn it was, what they were doing to treat it.</p><p>Jon didn’t care.</p><p>He felt Elias’ gaze on him, and Jon turned onto his back, looking up at the ambulance’s ceiling. He refused to look at Elias. Elias lied to him. </p><p>That was the only possible explanation. Elias had lied to him, and lied, and lied, and Jon still didn’t know why. He grit his teeth, and the paramedic apologised. </p><p>Jon laughed. At least someone was sorry. Elias shifted in his seat facing the stretcher, as if he knew what Jon was thinking.</p><p>‘I want my log.’ Jon stated, coldly.</p><p>‘I’ll have someone pick it up.’ Elias assured him, voice tight and desperate.</p><p>He reached for Jon’s shoulder, and Jon jolted.</p><p>‘Sir, please stay still.’ The paramedic told him.</p><p>Jon hissed. ‘Then keep him away from me.’</p><p>They turned to Elias. </p><p>‘Sir,’ they warned.</p><p>Elias looked at Jon with watery eyes, and Jon felt nothing. Then he felt everything, it seized him like a convulsion and he clenched his good hand and his teeth and he screwed his eyes shut and tried to breathe through the crushing <em> rage </em> pressing in against every inch of his body.</p><p>How could he breathe when he’d been betrayed? How could he speak when he’d been lied to? How could he swallow around the lump in his throat, or stop the shivers wracking his body when he’d been manipulated by the man who was meant to love him?</p><p>He certainly couldn’t look at him.</p><p>‘I want to be alone,’ he hissed.</p><p>‘Sir, it’s not long until the hospital now.’</p><p>‘I want to be alone right now. Stop the ambulance.’</p><p>The older medic rolled his eyes and sat back on the chair at the top of the stretcher. The younger medic dithered, and tried to explain to Jon why that wasn’t possible, why he needed to go to Accident and Emergency as soon as possible.</p><p>Jon rolled his eyes. He couldn’t stand one more second of scrutiny, one more second confined in the back of the ambulance, one more second under their gaze, or under Elias’ while he pretended to care now, after months of lies-</p><p>The sound was like something heavy landed on the roof. A branch, perhaps. Elias knew better, and dug his fingernails into his knees.</p><p>The back of the ambulance was getting infinitesimally smaller, the light metal walls squeezing in, making everyone there wish they were somewhere else.</p><p>The wheels had lifted from the tarmac, and Elias knew that they were no longer driving on the road. The mist had rolled in, he could see it through the windscreen if he leaned forward. But if he leaned forward, Jon flinched away so hard, and the ambulance shrank so much that they could all hear the crunch.</p><p>They all fell silent, now. The hum of the engine seemed muted without the rumble of the tires on the road, or the wind resistance, or the other tiny sounds overlooked by all until they were gone.</p><p>Elias tried to look into Jon’s mind and see what he needed to say to fix this. But Jon didn’t know, so Elias didn’t either. </p><p>The medics had both stopped talking. They looked at each other in confusion, then at Jon, who lay unresponsive and coldly, resolutely furious. Then, eventually, they faced Elias. He shrugged, and watched it unfold from their perspectives. First from the younger medic. He was scared, and confused, and just trying to do some good. He didn’t like this. He wanted to go home. He didn’t understand what was happening, and at first he thought if he could understand then he could help. He didn’t think that anymore.</p><p>Elias watched him, and he watched him slowly fade from existence. The back of the ambulance squeezed tighter, and Elias watched the older medic panic. She was quiet, she didn’t let it show, but as she braced her hands against the walls and gave a half-hearted push, she was frightened.</p><p>Elias watched her try and do something, anything at all, and watched her feel her fear as the ambulance she worked in closed in on her before it consumed her alive. She lifted her hands to her face as they turned translucent, and she disappeared. Where she went, Elias wanted to know. He couldn’t afford to find out. This was not the Lonely he knew, and if Jon sent him there, Elias knew he was as good as dead.</p><p>The Eye wanted him to find out. Elias wanted to know what Jon was capable of, for Jon to turn this dreadful power on him so he could feel the enormity of the change he’d inflicted upon him.</p><p>But Elias wanted to live. He had to live. So he held on, and he looked at Jon. Finally, he looked back with glazed eyes and an uncaring face.</p><p>‘I wanted to be alone. Why didn’t they just listen to me?’</p><p>The back of the ambulance was so very small now. The foldout seat Elias sat on was once on the opposite wall. It still was, but now Elias’ knee could brush Jon’s temple, if he wasn’t careful. Jon turned his head away, disgusted.</p><p>Elias felt a wave of coldness flow through him. He looked down, and saw the skin under his sleeves turn paler than pale. He wanted to know what Jon’s Lonely looked like, it seemed so different from the roar of static and ocean waves and infinite coastline that Peter took him to, sometimes.</p><p>It felt cold and Lonely, sure, but it also felt close, and small, like a cage, or cave, or the bottom of a long forgotten grave. </p><p>That pulled Elias out of it. For a second, he could see the earth flooding in, the end of his life, and he raged against it. The colour flooded back under his skin, and he was corporeal once more.</p><p>Too close for comfort. The ambulance hurtled in a new direction, straight down, and clods of earth were hitting the windscreen now. Elias had to stop this if he wanted to leave this alive.</p><p>And still, the part of him that wasn’t him, the part of him that was Beholding, just wanted to know where Jon could take him, if he let go and let him.</p><p>‘Jon,’ Elias tried, his voice weak and desperate. Jon was unmoved. He crossed his unhurt hand over his chest and squeezed his own upper arm.</p><p>‘Jon, please, listen to me.’</p><p>‘Why the hell should I?’ Jon spat, venomous.</p><p>Elias ran his hand through his hair, the sensation dulled, and he knew he was fading fast.</p><p>‘I know you’re not in control of what you’re doing, but listen, you’re-’</p><p>‘I am perfectly in control of this, thank you.’ Jon snapped.</p><p>‘You… are?’</p><p>Jon rolled his shoulders. ‘I wanted them gone, and they went. I told them I wanted to stop, and they didn’t. I told them I didn’t want to come, and they let you drag me here, so I… made them go. I know exactly what I’m doing Elias. There’s just one thing I don’t know.’</p><p>Elias breathed in the cold air. It smelled of mud, dark, deep mud, and he tried to steady himself. The ambulance was slowing, lodging itself deeper and deeper into the earth, into the grave waiting for him since he let go of the name Jonah Magnus.</p><p>‘What’s that then, Jon?’</p><p>‘I don’t know… why you’re still here.’</p><p>Jon looked at him, and Elias felt another push go through him. He went under, and fought back, struggling for air, for sensation, to feel his hand against Jon’s and know they were both still there.</p><p>‘Don’t touch me!’ He yelled.</p><p>But Elias was back, now.</p><p>‘Oh Jon, you’re wrong, you know. There’s more that you don’t know, so much more, you can’t even imagine…’</p><p>Jon snarled, about to tell Elias that he didn’t care.</p><p>But Elias cupped Jon’s cheek, and his eyes bore deep into Jon’s own.</p><p>‘Look at me,’ he instructed, and pushed his perspective as hard as he could.</p><p>‘Look at me, and tell me what you see.’</p><p>Jon brought his good hand up to Elias’ collar, and clenched, pulling him closer.</p><p>‘I see… I see the man who’s ruined my life,’ he spat.</p><p>He pulled Elias down as he fell back onto the stretcher, drained and furious.</p><p>‘I see the man who was meant to love me, you <em> said </em> you loved me, or, at least, you acted like it.’ </p><p>Elias fell in closer, leaning on his forearm and bracketing Jon in. He rested his knee on the bed, and suddenly he was on top of Jon and the sides of the ambulance closed in ever tighter. There was nowhere else to go but here. He wiped a tear from Jon’s face, and Jon leaned into the touch before he shook him off and stared him down.</p><p>‘And I see a liar! A liar through and through.’</p><p>Jon’s face was screwed up with pain and anguish and when Elias tilted forward, and rested his forehead against Jon’s, he let him. Elias flattened his chest against Jon's as the ceiling skimmed the crown of his head. Jon splayed his fingers against Elias' chest, feeling the racing heart beneath the shirt, beneath the palm of his hand.</p><p>‘But Jon,’ Elias asked, feeling the mud at his back now, breathing the last of his air. They’d die here, together, if Elias couldn’t stop this now. ‘Jon, do you know why?’</p><p>Jon stopped. It wasn’t that he stopped moving, or that he gave up on some action, but Elias could feel that Jon <em> stopped</em>. The ambulance was no longer driving downwards. There was a little more room to breathe. Elias saw that it was coming to an end, he just needed to take them a little further away from the edge of the Lonely. He could imagine that unknowable place receding, and the part of him that just wanted to Know cried out.</p><p>‘...why?’ Jon asked.</p><p>Elias placed a kiss on Jon’s cheek.</p><p>‘Get us out of here, and Jon, I promise I’ll tell you. You’ll learn everything you’ve ever wanted, have every question answered, but I can’t tell you from here.’</p><p>‘Why not?’ Jon’s voice raised, suspicious again.</p><p>‘Because… we’ll probably run out of air here. Jon, please, I know you know how to stop it. This whole situation is under your control. You can stop this, if you really want to.’</p><p>Jon snaked his arm around Elias waist, and held on tight.</p><p>‘I don’t.. I don’t know how-’</p><p>Elias kissed his face again. ‘Come on, Jon, I know you can do this. If you want to.’</p><p>‘Of course I- why wouldn’t I want to leave, this is… this is horrible, I don’t want to be here-’</p><p>But, there was a little part of Jon that wanted to stay. And another part of Jon that wanted Elias here, not necessarily with him, but in this cold, dark place, lonely, forgotten, and empty. A part of Jon wanted Elias to suffer here, even if that meant they’d have to suffer together.</p><p>‘Come on, Jon, think of the sunlight, think of answers, imagine everything you don’t understand, and never having to question it again. Any of it. Imagine never being confused again.’</p><p>Jon’s eyes widened. He wanted that.</p><p>‘Now, imagine staying down here, never knowing anything, ever again. All those unanswered questions... You don’t want that Jon, you don’t, so come on, come on,’ Elias held Jon and whispered in his ear.</p><p>For a moment, nothing more changed. The ambulance was not on the road, nor was it in the dirt, nor was it moving. Jon and Elias closed their eyes tight, and held on for dear life.</p><p>And then, the world regained perspective, they were back on the road, driving to the hospital, and the ambulance had space to breathe.</p><p>The two paramedics would never be seen again, and the driver would never be able to explain where they went. He just helped the two men out of the back of the ambulance, and quit his job that very day.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. No Love Lost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon was silent in A and E. He spoke to the doctors just fine, assuaging Elias’ worries that he was slipping again. He just didn’t utter a word to Elias, and shot him a warning glare when Elias opened his mouth to speak to him. So Elias stayed quiet, and watched Jon’s mind shred the experiences of twenty minutes before. </p><p>The feelings, he realised with a growing horror, the feelings remained where the truth, too horrible to look at, could not. Jon was still seething. Under his cold exterior, Jon roiled in the turbulence of a single ordinary truth he could not forget with the Lonely. The fact remained that Elias had lied, and that he had promised to tell Jon why.</p><p>Guilt was there too. Somewhere, Jon knew that he’d taken the lives of two strangers. He couldn’t access the memory, but the knowledge was heavy and immovable. He took their lives. He knew their names. He didn’t know who they were. Later, when their faces would be put up in the paper, Jon would recognise them immediately and not know how. </p><p>They would scare him, like they did then. He would hate them, like he did then. He would not know why.</p><p>He needed to know why.</p><p>By the time his hand was bandaged, that need was all that remained of his experience in the ambulance. </p><p>Jon took Elias’ arm and leaned on him as he led them to the car, and he pulled away as soon as he was able. </p><p>Elias was sure Jon would ask him as soon as they were back at the car, out of the public’s earshot. But Jon didn’t speak, didn’t so much as look at Elias until they were home. The silence and the cold were not supernatural but of a human variety, and therefore the kind that Elias found chilling.</p><p>He helped Jon out of his car, and to the lift. He held his breath and waited for the moment that Jon would just ask him the question that freed them from Jon’s own vision of hell. He didn’t ask. </p><p>He didn’t ask when Elias walked them through the door, wishing he’d had Martin deliver the cane to the hospital, and Jon didn’t ask after Elias leveraged him over to the sofa. He didn’t ask when Elias sat down next to him.</p><p>If Elias couldn’t reach into his mind, he might even have thought that Jon had forgotten he ever wanted to know, just as he had forgotten everything else that ever frightened him. Instead, Elias knew he was waiting to strike. And he knew that wasn’t how Jon saw it.</p><p>Jon was waiting for the right moment to ask, a moment where they could sit down and speak openly and honestly and then Jon could make his next steps well informedly, with full intent.</p><p>‘Would you make us some tea?’ He asked.</p><p>Elias jumped to it, and Jon stared away from the breakfast bar, looking out into space and desperate to curl up under a blanket and sleep the whole day off. </p><p>He had a duty to ask this first. A duty to himself. He deserved to know.</p><p>He didn’t recognise it as a need like Elias could from the other side of the room. He brought the tea over, and when they each had a steaming mug in their hands, Elias braced himself because Jon was finally ready.</p><p>‘Why did you lie to me?’ Jon asked. His voice was small, for all the ways he’d considered asking, for all the ways he’d thought the question, felt the question deep in his heart over the months they’d been together. </p><p>Elias knew exactly what Jon knew. He knew what Jon didn’t. He knew that Jon could remember the struggle outside the ambulance, the realisation that he knew Basira’s name, and from where, and what that meant Elias had done. </p><p>And yet, Elias didn’t know what to say.</p><p>‘You lied to me,’ Jon stated more firmly, as if Elias might try and take it away from him. He only felt like Elias had promised him the truth, it’s not like he could remember.</p><p>‘Jon, what do you mean-’</p><p>Jon took a deep breath, and Elias stopped.</p><p>‘You told me… you told me there were no police, that day, and when the police came to investigate today, they were already in the building for a start, I saw them evacuate through the fire escape with the other archivists, and when I called one of them by the name I heard before, she answered. It was her name. So… she was there that day when you told me I made it up.’</p><p>Elias put his mug on the table quietly, so as not to slam it. ‘I didn’t say you made it up, I said you-’</p><p>‘Hallucinated it, sure, but you don’t know what they’re like. The way you said it, you may as well have said-’</p><p>‘Jon, I would never say that. You were ill, and I thought- I mean, I haven’t heard anything about an investigation! Who could blame me for thinking you… Not before today, anyway, but I think this case is different to the one you were talking about-’</p><p>Jon’s lip twitched in frustration. ‘<em>Of course </em>it’s different to the one I was talking about a <em> month </em> ago. Elias, look around you, your employees are getting murdered, apparently, and if you didn’t know about the investigation, then <em> maybe </em> your <em> surviving </em> employees are getting sick of waiting for you to <em> wise up </em>.’</p><p>Jon’s voice had finally risen, and taking in Elias’ shocked expression, he sank back into the sofa and sighed.</p><p>‘Maybe they’ve taken matters into their own hands because you wouldn’t help.’</p><p>Jon astounded Elias. When he dropped his head into his hands and scrubbed at his eyes, his sigh was genuine.</p><p>‘You think they’re doing this behind my back?’</p><p>‘What, investigating a killer? In your Institute, without you knowing? If they are, then that’s only a testament to why they should do this without you. You didn’t even know Gertrude was murdered. That’s probably why Sasha was sneaking around when she wasn’t meant to be in work, she was probably… helping the investigation, or something? She said they found Gertrude’s body when they were checking out the tunnels under Institute-’</p><p>‘The what?’ Elias broke in, as he would do, if he didn’t know those tunnels better than anyone.</p><p>‘That’s what I said! But yeah, Sasha said there were tunnels under the Institute, and they went looking for worms, and I said that sounded like pest control’s job, and she said they were just very hands on archivists, and I thought that sounded awfully suspicious but I didn’t say anything. So…’</p><p>Elias steepled his fingers together. ‘So unless they’d been looking in the tunnels in the week before you went back to work, which doesn’t seem likely because I probably would have noticed them slacking, they broke into the Institute to investigate, discovered a system of tunnels, and the late Gertrude Robinson’s body.’</p><p>Jon nodded his head.</p><p>‘All without me knowing.’</p><p>Jon sighed, but nodded. ‘I know it doesn’t sound probable, but that’s what I believe.’</p><p>Elias took his hand, and Jon shook it off, instinctive.</p><p>‘No, I still can’t believe that I totally dismissed what I saw, and what happened, just because you promised me it was impossible. I’m…’</p><p>Elias lowered his head. He didn’t feel ashamed. He wanted to move past this and point Jon in the new direction he’d picked, he didn’t want to stop and dwell. He didn’t want to sit through this, but he would, for his plan.</p><p>‘I’m angry with you.’ Jon articulated for the first time. </p><p>He’d never told anyone that before. He repeated it again, and went on.</p><p>‘I’m angry with you, because you mean a lot to me, and I trusted you, and you didn’t even stop to think about whether what I was saying was true. You dismissed me, and I thought I was losing my mind there, all the way until now. You must understand, after what I’ve been through, that was terrifying for me. All because you didn’t consider things properly.’</p><p>Elias was silent. ‘I’m sorry. Jon, I’m so, so sorry. I was wrong. If there’s anything I can do-’</p><p>‘I want to leave.’ Jon said. He realised it was true as soon as he said it. He realised there was nothing holding him here, nothing, and no one. Not feelings, not attachment, not attraction. He was done.</p><p>Elias was stunned. ‘Of course.’</p><p>There was nothing else he could say. He scrambled for his plan.</p><p>‘But where are you going to go? Your place is still wrecked, so-’</p><p>Jon shrugged. ‘I’m going to call a friend.’</p><p>Elias nodded, silent. </p><p>‘If they can’t come through?’</p><p>‘Then I’ll book a room or something, Christ, Elias, I need my space right now. You’ve hurt me, badly, and I have a lot to think about.’</p><p>It was settled. Jon went into the bedroom to phone Georgie. He closed the door behind him, and for the first time since moving in with Elias, the call connected and Jon got in touch as he promised.</p><p>He held back from his feelings as he explained as briefly as possible that he needed a place to stay, possibly just for a night.</p><p>‘But, if you have… what was it, Melanie? If you have Melanie over tonight, then please, don’t worry, I’ve got options.’</p><p>The voice down the phone was disgruntled. ‘No risk of her getting in the way, ugh.’</p><p>She brightened though, at her next words. ‘But yeah, of course you’re welcome. I’m sorry you’re going through it with your boyfriend.’</p><p>Jon chuckled. ‘You could say that.’</p><p>After a thoughtful pause, Jon carried on. ‘Sounds like things aren’t exactly easy for you either right now.’</p><p>Georgie groaned down the phone. ‘I don’t know, it might be fine? It might literally be fine, or I might be the stupidest, most oblivious… Oh, I don’t know. Anyway, I’m really glad you called, I could do with someone to talk to about this, actually.’</p><p>Jon smiled genuinely for the first time since this morning, and it felt like a decade. Chatting with Tim seemed like a lifetime ago. </p><p>‘Well, I know how that feels. When could I come over? I- I mean, when would be best for you?’</p><p>‘Honestly Jon, the sooner the better.’</p><p>Jon started packing, heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. Lighter and empty. He liked the feeling. He saw Elias on the way out, looking lost and confused, and Jon didn’t know what to say. So he left, and showed the taxi driver the address Georgie texted him. In the car, Tim texted him.</p><p> </p><p>Tim Stoker: hey jon! you left your cane in front of the institute- can run that back to you todya if you like? or i can keep it on me till you come back to work! let me know what works best x</p><p> </p><p>Jon forwarded Georgie’s address. After a moment’s thought, he added another text.</p><p> </p><p>Jon Sims: should also be a book :)</p><p> </p><p>He zoned out of the window until he got a reply.</p><p> </p><p>Tim Stoker: i know the one you mean, but its not there! sorry- someone’s probably handed it in tho. can check lost property?</p><p> </p><p>Jon thumbsed up the message and pursed his lips. It was instinctively obvious to him that his log had been stolen. He just didn’t know who or why, questions he was beginning to resent.</p><p>He just wanted to go somewhere he might call home. He was so, so glad he could go to Georgie. When the taxi pulled up at her place, she was standing outside waiting for him. She threw open the car door with the enthusiasm of a long lost friend, not the kind you saw every day but the kind who was waiting with open arms anyway. She pulled him up without hesitation and into a tight hug.</p><p>‘G-Georgie!’ Jon gasped.</p><p>‘Sorry, sorry, I’ll put you down-’</p><p>‘No! I just need you to help me in, I left my cane at work in the accident, a coworker’s coming around later to drop it off, but-’</p><p>She squeezed a little just once more, before she loosened her hold and walked Jon in, talking over her shoulder to the taxi driver promising him that she’d be back to take Jon’s stuff in a moment. </p><p>They stumbled through the door together, and Jon the memories rose in Jon of walking back late at night, piss drunk and full of love. He did love her, back then, even if he still wasn’t quite sure how. They sat down on the sofa together, and she quickly dashed off to pick up Jon’s suitcase. </p><p>The Admiral jumped straight into his lap, and Jon smiled before the first tears he’d really spilled over it all were just torn from him at last. The cat curled up, resolute, and Jon ran his hand through her soft fur and cried.</p><p>He thought it was cliched to talk of floodgates, but once he’d finally let go it was like he couldn’t possibly claw back his control and put his face back to something neutral and hold back. Georgie closed the door behind her, suitcase in tow. She left it in the landing and wordlessly sat down beside him. He fell into her shoulder and sobbed, and stroked the cat, and when his breathing started to even, Georgie rang up a take-away place and ordered what they always used to, back then.</p><p>Over dinner, Jon spilled everything he knew about the Magnus Institute finally telling someone for the first time. He rushed the story, and told it out of order to prioritise the significance, and then he lost track of which bit he was even telling before Georgie reminded him, and it stopped feeling like his life. As he got into the narrative and separated off the feelings, he waved his chopsticks around and the Admiral watched with wide eyes, and if Georgie didn’t warn Jon not to feed her human food, he would have probably sacrificed most of his chow mein that way. </p><p>The pain meds were starting to wear off and Jon was nearly up to date with his story when they heard the knock at the door.</p><p>‘Oh, that’s probably Tim with my cane, I’ll get it-’ </p><p>‘Jon, I’ll get it, think about why he’s bringing you the cane in the first place.’</p><p>Jon slumped back and snorted. ‘Thanks Georgie.’</p><p>He remembered, of course, he just didn’t like to see anyone running around after him. But it was nice.</p><p>Georgie opened the door, and Tim looked her up and down. For a second, he was confused. When they’d exchanged gossip over text, Sasha had told him that Jon had a boyfriend and seemed monogamous, likely ending, or at least pausing, any potential romance. So he didn’t expect a woman to answer the door at Jon’s house.</p><p>Then Tim mentally slapped himself for the cisnormativity he was trying to free himself from, and put two and two together. </p><p>Then his heart sank, but he had to concede, Jon’s boyfriend was hot.</p><p>‘Oh, hello! I was told Jon… lives here?’</p><p>‘Lives here?’ she called back into the room, and Jon sank into the chair.</p><p>‘I said no such thing!’ He called back.</p><p>‘Typical,’ she muttered to Tim, and he laughed, still a little miffed. He shrugged off the new knowledge that Jon’s boyfriend was hot and funny by remembering he was probably never going to get a chance to ask him out anyway.</p><p>‘Well, just here to pass this on. And tell him I couldn’t find his book, I did look but-’</p><p>Georgie shrugged easily. ‘Come in if you’ve got time to stop, and tell him yourself.’</p><p>So he followed her through to the living room, and Jon jumped out of his skin.</p><p>‘Tim!’ He was flustered, and tried to smarten up. He felt like a slob laid out on the sofa surrounded by tupperware and carrier bags, but there was no possible recourse. He accepted his fate with bitter resignation.</p><p>Sasha and Martin had teased Tim to the ends of the world about his apparent crush on Jon, but seeing him all sprawled out, his hair spilling over his shoulders, his shirt a few buttons undone and all untucked exposing a triangle of his tummy, and Tim thought he might be in love for the third time this year. </p><p>‘I- cane!’ He managed, brightly. He lifted it for emphasis.</p><p>‘I can see that.’ Jon pouted. He would have put himself tidy if he knew Georgie was going to invite Tim in. </p><p>Tim chose to put the cane down next to the sofa, thoughtfully within Jon’s reach.</p><p>Thoughtlessly close to Jon himself. He kneeled at the sofa, at Jon’s eyelevel, and realised their noses were close enough to touch. Nervous, he started to talk.</p><p>‘So I checked lost property and I couldn’t find your book. I can hunt it down tomorrow in work though?’</p><p>Jon’s face fell, and Tim felt a stab through him. ‘Don’t trouble yourself, I can look for it myself.’</p><p>Tim’s brow furrowed. ‘Well, yeah, when you’re back in work, but-’</p><p>‘And that will be tomorrow.’</p><p>Tim started back, and sat cross legged on the floor by Jon, settling in to chat. ‘What? No, you can’t come tomorrow?’ </p><p>Jon narrowed his eyes. ‘Why not?’</p><p>‘Because you have a third degree burn, and I think it would be illegal for you to work through that, or something?’</p><p>‘How did you know-’</p><p>Tim gestured like it was something he just heard around, and Jon let it go. He had enough mysteries as it was.</p><p>‘Come on, hand,’ Tim held out his own and made a beckoning motion. Jon sighed, and extended his bandaged hand like royalty. </p><p>Tim winced, and gently took Jon’s forearm so he could turn his hand this way and that. </p><p>‘That’s really got to hurt. Did the doctor’s tell you to stay home?’</p><p>‘...Yes.’ Jon admitted.</p><p>‘Then stay,’ Tim told him, softly, and Jon wanted to believe he had nothing but the best intentions. </p><p>So he made a non committal sound, and Tim didn’t push any further. </p><p>He was about to leave when Georgie floated in with a mug of tea in each hand.</p><p>Jon realised too late that Tim and Georgie hadn’t actually been introduced.</p><p>‘Oh, I’m sorry, um, Tim, Georgie, Georgie, Tim.’ </p><p>He lay back and considered it a job well done, especially when the Admiral slunk back in the room and got back on Jon’s chest like it was her job.</p><p>‘Hey,’ Tim took the mug from Georgie, and sat back down on the floor. ‘Nice to meet you.’</p><p>‘You too,’ Georgie smiled. ‘You can sit up on the sofa, Jon can actually stop hogging it but only if you ask.’</p><p>Tim noted that she sat on the coffee table. </p><p>‘Let him hog, I’ll be off in a moment anyway.’</p><p>‘Excuse me, I do not hog.’ Jon huffed.</p><p>Tim laughed, and Jon sighed dramatically. He turned to the cat, and smiled. ‘Only you respect me.’</p><p>After he drank his tea with them, joking pleasantly about nothing. Tim petted the Admiral, and she batted at his sparkly earring. Jon admonished her like a member of staff, and both Tim and Georgie laughed.</p><p>‘I’m so sorry, she’s ancient, I don’t know where she got the energy,’ Georgie apologised.</p><p>Tim tutted, and finished the last of his tea. ‘Pure homophobic spite, in my opinion.’</p><p>He left Jon and Georgie still laughing, and it was the damn cat that made Tim realise in the end. It was the same one from Jon’s lockscreen, all grown up. If that was their cat, together, then that couple had been together for <em> years </em>. He smiled. </p><p>It was what Jon deserved. He was a lucky man.</p><p>And Tim would be too, once he and Martin found Sasha and they could be together properly, like that. Like Jon and his boyfriend.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Kindling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>‘Well, he was handsome.’ Georgie pointed out, after Tim left.</p><p>Jon huffed. ‘Good observation.’</p><p>‘And he was so into you!’</p><p>‘Um, no, I really don't think so.’</p><p>Georgie got up and started clearing away the takeaway. ‘Why not?’</p><p>‘He’s seeing the other archivists.’ Jon deadpanned.</p><p>‘Oh! Well! Hey, wait, you realise that means he might actually be trying to get with you? Like if he’s seeing two other people then why not you too?’</p><p>‘Georgie, stop. Just- I like Tim? But no, it’d be… messy. Working together, and, you know, everything with Elias- God, I don’t even know if it’s over with Elias, and I-’</p><p>Georgie arched an eyebrow. ‘You don’t know if it’s over with Elias?’</p><p>Jon made a non-committal sound. </p><p>‘I just told him I’d figure it out, and now I don’t know. I’ve got to see him in work tomorrow, God that’s going to be awkward.’</p><p>‘For the record, I think you shouldn’t go in to work tomorrow for a start, and also it really should be over between you and him. From what you said, he’s been a dick.’</p><p>Jon bristled, but then he relented. ‘Yeah, yeah he has.’ </p><p>‘But he’s also… not been a dick! I- I just have a lot to think about.’</p><p>Georgie nodded.</p><p>‘Well, it’s your choice. Now, help me make mine! I think I need a fresh perspective on this, I’ve been driving myself up the wall with it.’</p><p>Jon sat up on the sofa, and Georgie sat down next to him.</p><p>‘Right, so, Melanie’s changed. A lot. It all started when this old uni friend of hers showed up.’</p><p>‘In what way has she changed?’ Jon prompted, as serious as an investigator, and Georgie realised that she’d missed this. So she divulged.</p><p>‘Well, for a start, she used to be really relaxed around me even if she was really wound up the rest of the time. I used to be able to get her to down tools and relax even when she was keyed up and in the middle of all her work. She works <em> so </em> hard, Jon.’</p><p>He thought for a second. ‘And now?’</p><p>‘Well, now she’s just keyed up all the time! She’s so passionate about what she does, but now it seems more like obsession. Won’t spend any time with me, and when we do I just feel like I made her, which isn’t a very nice feeling. And she just talks and talks and talks about ghosts. Like, you know me, I love ghosts, but that wasn’t the only thing she cared about. She’s touchy now, real snappy with me, and she didn’t used to be. Defensive, too. Particularly about this old friend of hers. I think she’s moved in? But I haven’t seen her around- you know, Melanie won’t even tell me her name!’</p><p>‘Do you get the feeling you might know her? This woman?’</p><p>Georgie thought hard. ‘I don’t know how I would, but I must do, if she’s being this cagey about her.’</p><p>‘Maybe she just doesn’t want you looking her up?’ Jon offered.</p><p>Georgie nodded, and they fell into a contemplative silence.</p><p>‘I’m thinking I should just break it off anyway, she’s changed a lot, but I just can’t figure out why.’</p><p>The air weighed heavy for a second, and when she continued, it was with a certain somberness, a paler reflection of Jon’s own desperation to understand what exactly had gone wrong with something that should have been going so right. </p><p>‘So what do you think-’ Jon asked, trying to alleviate that burden.</p><p>‘Well I don’t know-’</p><p>‘Yes, but what do you <em> think </em>?’</p><p>Georgie sighed. ‘If I had to say it out loud, I guess she’s cheating on me.’</p><p>Jon pushed his glasses back up his nose, and thought carefully about his next words. </p><p>‘‘Do you honestly think she’s the type to go behind your back like that? With someone she’s told you has moved in? Because that’d be rather poorly thought out, and, if she’s anything like what you say then-’</p><p>‘I don’t know.’ Georgie cut in. ‘I don’t know what else it could be?’</p><p>‘Look, you’ve decided it’s an affair, which, given everything, is quite reasonable. But it could be a million other things. Dramatic personality shift like this, it might be a mental health issue? If she works in the public eye, it’s possible that’s having a more serious effect on her than it seemed. Do you know if that’s possible?’</p><p>Georgie fell back in her chair. ‘I didn’t even think of that.’</p><p>Jon let her consider, and tried to think of more possible triggers for such a dramatic shift in personality. He let his mind wander while Georgie thought back over Melanie’s change.</p><p>‘I mean, I guess it’s possible? She does always seem like she’s on edge these days, and that <em> might </em> be why? It’s not like I’m worried, she can handle herself, you know, it’s that… I don’t know, this isn’t her.’</p><p> </p><p>In a small London flat, not too far away, Sasha was wondering the same thing about Melanie.</p><p>‘Is this really what you want?'</p><p>It was one of those questions, Melanie knew the difference.</p><p>‘I don’t know.’ She said, honestly. She couldn’t answer any other way. ‘I don’t know, but I want to know, and I… I want to try it again. I can do this, Sasha, I can, and I want to.’</p><p>Sasha tucked a long red braid behind her ear. </p><p>‘America’s going to be rough, it’s not going to be like it is here, where I know what I’m doing and I can cover for you. I just want you to know, you don’t have to do this for me. It’s… I’m the one who got in trouble, you don’t have to get yourself stuck too, okay?’</p><p>Melanie nodded, determined.</p><p>‘And I’m not doing this for you! I’ve… I’ve wanted to do it again since Baldwin, okay. I want this.’</p><p>‘Well, if you’re certain-’</p><p>‘I am,’ Melanie insisted, her eyes flashing with something Sasha was seeing more often. Something Sasha could not deny frightened her as much as she liked it.</p><p>‘Then you should get packing, I bought us two tickets for a flight out early tomorrow morning.’</p><p>Melanie grinned, her teeth white and sharp, and she buzzed with energy. ‘What time tomorrow?’</p><p>‘Um… one. In the morning.’</p><p>Melanie shook her head fondly, still thrumming with that electric energy Sasha could practically see.</p><p>‘You’re a nightmare, you really are.’</p><p>Sasha could not agree more.</p><p> </p><p>Neither could Elias. As he drove down to the Institute, he watched Sasha pack her rucksack next to Melanie, and they argued over the knife. In the end, Sasha won her over by reminding Melanie that it wouldn’t look good even in their luggage, especially when the bodies were bound to show up after they landed. Then Sasha promised that they’d be able to get better weapons in America anyway, and Melanie gave in, packing only the most innocuous of items.</p><p>Elias hoped to high hell that something might befall Sasha over in America. The thought of how powerful she’d be if she got to watch any altercation between her companion and anything she might come across following in Gertrude’s footsteps… Elias just hoped that she’d never return.</p><p>He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and focused on Martin. He’d done extraordinarily well to snatch the book up unnoticed by all those witnesses. Disturbed by missing something like that, Elias scoured Martin’s memory and found the moment he lifted it from the floor. The second Elias kicked the book away, Martin was eying it up from the archive’s designated point of evacuation. </p><p> </p><p>Tantalisingly close, Martin couldn’t just reach out and grab it without answering some questions he really didn’t want to. So he waited patiently for Tim to go and confer with Basira and Daisy, leaving him behind.</p><p>It suited him. Step by tentative step, Martin had inched closer to the book and just a little further from Tim and the officers. From the corner of his eye, so it wasn’t so obvious, Martin made sure they weren’t looking as he crept just a little closer to the receptionist’s log. He needn’t have bothered. They were locked in a fierce argument. But Tim’s observational skills were rather unpredictable, so Martin erred on the side of caution and moved as carefully as he could.</p><p>Finally, he swooped down, and shoved the book into his laptop bag as quickly as he could. This was the only point he kept his back turned to Tim as he shielded his actions with his body. He thought about how he’d say he was tying his shoe, if someone asked, but he didn’t know why anyone would ask, and in the end, when he inconspicuously drifted back to the point Tim had left him, no one had noticed a thing.</p><p>He told Tim he hadn’t seen Jon’s book when he asked. It weighed heavy in his bag and on his conscience. He longed to explain it all to Tim, and he would. He just had to wait.</p><p>Once Tim went to drop Jon’s cane off at his address, Martin was alone at last. The cops didn’t stick around for long without Tim, leaving Martin to freely examine Jon’s book.</p><p>He just needed to know if there was anything incriminating there, if there was something he could use, or if there was something he needed to make disappear. Whatever was in this book, it would help them all, in the end.</p><p>So, he snuck back into the evacuated Institute and down into document storage. He lay on his bed, and looked around his room just one last time to make sure the coast was really clear. He laughed to himself for being so paranoid, and took the book from his bag.</p><p>He placed it on his bed, and he was about to flick open the cover open when there was a knock on the door. </p><p>‘Martin, open the door.’</p><p>Martin shoved the book under his pillow.</p><p>He stood up, took a deep breath, and opened the door.</p><p>‘Hi Elias-’</p><p>‘Martin. Where is it?’ Elias strode in, scanning the makeshift bedroom.</p><p>‘Uh, I- What?’</p><p>Elias gripped his shoulders and shook him slightly. Martin looked him up and down, and realised that for the first time since they’d met, Elias looked like a wreck. His shirt was loose and rumpled, he wasn’t wearing a jacket, and he was out of breath, like he’d been running. He shook Martin again, a little harder this time, the urgency palpable.</p><p>‘Martin, I do not have time for this, I said, have you opened the book? The one you stole today, <em> have you opened it? </em>’</p><p>Elias released Martin, and he thought it would be best to answer truthfully. Couldn’t answer any other way.</p><p>‘Yes, but only when we were investigating the Institute months ago.’</p><p>Elias nodded, and took a deep breath. </p><p>‘I’m sorry I compelled you just then… I'm just quite <em>deeply</em> concerned.’</p><p>‘It’s alright.’ Martin it shrugged off. </p><p>‘Please, please get the book now.’</p><p>Reluctant to give it up, but even less inclined to conflict with Elias, Martin pulled the book out from under his pillow. Elias sighed with relief.</p><p>‘Thank you. Right, so it hasn’t got a hold of you yet, then.’</p><p>Martin smiled, relying on placidity when he was uncertain. ‘Um?’</p><p>Elian pinched the bridge of his nose.</p><p>‘Martin, I believe that in your research since you’ve joined the archives, you’ve come across certain books with power. These books are collectively referred to as Leitners, and tend to influence the people… targeted by them. Their influence is dangerous, powerful, and very subtle, at least to begin with.’</p><p>Martin looked at the book with new eyes, and Elias continued on, voice growing soft.</p><p>‘I… I didn’t even think to check where the receptionist got this book from… I didn’t even think to look into it. Foolish, foolish mistake.’</p><p>He locked eyes with Martin again. </p><p>‘Unless we open the book, it will be impossible to discern exactly what the book does.’</p><p>‘But I’ve looked in the book!’ Martin countered. </p><p>‘Yes, you have, haven’t you?’</p><p>Elias sounded so regretful of this fact, and with a sigh, he asked, ‘well? What did you see?’</p><p>Martin tried to think about how much he should give away. He didn’t want to let on how much he knew of their… employment contract, but he supposed that a list of employees might not even be out of place in a receptionist’s log anyway.</p><p>‘Nothing particularly weird? Apart from this one page where Jon just left a bunch of question marks for someone’s check out time, but he probably just forgot.’</p><p>Elias made a thoughtful sound. </p><p>‘I can’t be certain, but when I saw Jon using the log after his… likely traumatic incident this morning, I suspected that the book might be more than it seemed. His reaction to the book’s… removal, well, you saw that as plainly as I did.’</p><p>‘It was horrible,’ he agreed, hoping it didn’t come out as accusatory as he felt.</p><p>Elias seemed to concur. ‘I didn’t like it much either, but… I think it confirmed my fears. I believe Jon has been living under the growing influence of this Leitner for some time now. And, I have a theory as to what kind of Leitner we might be dealing with. I’d just like to know, Martin, what provoked you to pick it up?’</p><p>Martin floundered for a second. He didn’t want to blow his plan, and if the book had supernatural properties, he saw quite a neat way out. Thinking about it, he had no rational reason to want the book. Hell, for all he knew, the shameless lie he was about to tell might even be true. It’d be convenient if it was.</p><p>‘I…’ he began, faintly as he could manage. ‘I just don’t really know. Thinking about it, it seemed like it just called to me.’</p><p>Elias agreed, gravely. ‘I suspected as much. I think there’s one of two things we can do, and seeing as you’ve actually looked into the book, and you’ve seen Jon interact with it more than I have, I’d really like your opinion.’</p><p>Martin was flattered. His heart started to beat though, the responsibility to make a good decision weighed on him. But it was not a responsibility he would shrink from.</p><p>‘So, we can put this into artefact storage right now, and research the book more thoroughly at a later date. The positives? We could learn so much from this, and we might be able to free Jon with fewer uncomfortable side effects. The downside is that if the book can lure in potential owners, such as yourself, then it might put others at risk. Or, Jon might go looking for it in artefact storage which is less than ideal for a number of reasons that I’m sure you don’t need me to explain.’</p><p>Martin understood perfectly. Even if the book was slightly less dangerous than he’d inadvertently led Elias to believe, that didn’t mean Jon wouldn’t go looking for it if the book had dug its hooks in him.</p><p>Martin picked at his fingernails.</p><p>‘So, we might be able to cure Jon better if we research the book, but that’ll take time, and in that time more people might be exposed to it, and it might lure Jon back in, and the place we’d store it is dangerous.’ </p><p>‘That’s the first option.’</p><p>‘What’s the second option?’</p><p>Elias clapped his hands and rubbed them together. ‘The second option is that we set it on fire right now, and go from there.’</p><p>Martin gasped. ‘What? No! What’ll that even<em> do </em> to Jon?’</p><p>Elias subdued his energy. </p><p>‘In my experience, the destruction of a Leitner is beneficial for its victims unless they’ve already become in some way dependent on the book, in which case, it’s too late for them anyway.’</p><p>Martin rubbed his temples. ‘So you’re saying that if it hurts him, it was already too late.’</p><p>‘While we can’t know that for sure, that has been my experience, yes.’</p><p>‘Right, right. And if we wait any longer, it puts others at risk, or risks Jon coming to get it and giving the book more power over him.’</p><p>Elias nodded again.</p><p>‘And we don’t even know what this book does. Once it’s completely taken over its host, they might even become dangerous in their own right.’</p><p>Martin groaned. ‘Then it’s not even a choice! We have to destroy it, as soon as possible.’</p><p>Martin could tell that Elias tried not to look pleased. </p><p>‘We can do it right now.’ </p><p>He pulled out a box of matches from his pocket, and held them up. </p><p>‘What, here?’</p><p>‘Among all these files? We’ve had the fire alarm off once today, I don’t think we actually need to destroy the place. At least not today, anyway.’</p><p>Elias gingerly picked up the book and began to walk out the door. Martin followed without question.</p><p>‘No, back in the day, Gertrude and I always burned these in the courtyard. We usually did that after dark, fewer prying eyes, but seeing as we’re the only ones in the building, now’s about the perfect time.’</p><p>But Elias didn’t take them straight to the courtyard. Instead, they made a stop at his office on the top floor, and Martin was glad of the lift. </p><p>‘Were you two close, then?’</p><p>Elias shrugged. ‘I’m not so sure about that. She was a fair bit older than me, and very… willful? I might even say stubborn. I’m not always sure she approved of my way of doing things, or approved much of me, for that matter.’</p><p>He chuckled, and turned a little wistful.</p><p>‘Still, we went through a lot together. I was one of her assistants before I took over from Mr Wright. I like to think we did a lot of good together, but whether she actually liked me… well, I suppose I’ll never know that now.’</p><p>Elias was busy getting the small bottle of methylated spirits from his stationary cabinet, back turned to Martin. But he didn’t even need his eyes around the room to hear how Martin’s voice trembled.</p><p>‘God, I, uh, know how that one feels. The investigation must be… really hard on you then.’</p><p>‘Oh, I try not to let it bother me. The worst part is that I thought there was more time. You see, she disappeared rather a lot, she was always somewhere else in the world, tracking down Leitners and monsters, incredible woman. And she barely let anyone else help her at all. I thought she was still out there, somewhere, right up until… I just didn’t know it was too late until that moment.’</p><p>Martin hoped he could clear his face by the time Elias found what he was looking for in the cupboard he was rifling through. He wasn’t to know that Elias had already found it.</p><p>‘I… I am so sorry for your loss.’</p><p>Martin couldn’t stop thinking about his mother, and<em> she </em> wasn’t even dead. He wasn’t worried about her facing down monsters halfway around the world, and he didn’t think she was alive when she was rotting under the place they’d worked together. The comparison would likely be insulting to Elias, so Martin wouldn’t dream of offering it as condolence.</p><p>But Gertrude and his mother sounded like they’d have much to talk about, if… if… if it wasn’t too late for…</p><p>Martin controlled himself by the time Elias turned back around.</p><p>‘I really can’t thank you enough for your input on this, and for safely collecting the book in the first place. Really, Martin, you’re invaluable to the archives.’</p><p>Martin blinked a good few times, and put forward a weak smile. </p><p>‘Come on, let’s… let’s get this done.’</p><p>Looking at it now, it was clear that the bin in the centre of the courtyard was scorched. But it wasn’t until Elias tossed the receptionist’s book into the bin and doused it with the spirits that Martin could see that this had been done a thousand times.</p><p>Elias handed Martin the box of matches. He thought it was a bit of an empty gesture, really, but Martin wasn’t going to tell him that, it’d be wrong. So he struck the match and tossed it into the bin, relieved he was taking some of the world’s evil out of it, at least. </p><p>Or at least, he was resolving just one complicating factor in the Magnus Institute, tying up just one of a million loose threads Martin could see tangled all around him.</p><p>‘It’s quite meditative, really.’ Elias interjected. </p><p>‘Mm.’</p><p>‘Something on your mind?’</p><p>Martin sighed. ‘Just… speaking of the investigation… I suppose I hope we figure out who did it before anything else goes wrong.’</p><p>Elias gave him a concerned look. </p><p>‘What do you mean?’</p><p>Martin sighed again, and sat in front of the fire, watching it burn.</p><p>‘Everyone’s… everyone’s running around jumping to conclusions about who might have done it, and no one’s thinking about what’s going to happen if those two cops get their hands on anyone they might even think is a culprit.’</p><p>Elias cocked his head. ‘I know that Section 31 officers can be a bit different, but they’ll get to the bottom of this. I really believe that.’</p><p>Martin ran his hands through his hair. ‘I’m sure they will, no doubt about it. But I’m just trying to think ahead to what they’ll do when they <em>do</em> find a culprit. I’ve been doing some research of my own, and… I suppose you don’t get sectioned without being in some really bad situations with no right answers. I’m not judging them!’</p><p>He held his hands up, hoping he came across sincerely when he said that.</p><p>‘I’m just trying to think ahead. Someone has to, for God’s sake.’</p><p>Elias let the silence sit. Something he’d learned from Peter was that silence was sometimes the most compelling question of all. </p><p>‘Sometimes, I just worry that Tim hasn’t really thought it through. They have someone they want to pin it on, Tim wants to find someone else to blame instead and then he reckons he can use them to find her. But, he hasn’t even thought about… what they’ll do when they find their... original suspect. Even if they know it wasn't her, I know what they’ll do, so…’</p><p>‘So,’ Elias nudged, interested to see whether Martin would tell him what he could see taking shape.</p><p>‘I’ve just got something in mind. I think it’ll help.’</p><p>‘Are you going to tell him, now that you’ve worked something out?’</p><p>Martin squirmed. </p><p>‘I think he’d think it was a waste of my time, to be honest. And he’s so stressed out right now, I wouldn’t want to freak him out more. He’s all about the here and now, and right now he trusts those officers with his life. If I told him now, I think he’d ruin everything. And if he’s right, then it <em>will</em> have been a waste of my time, huge one!’</p><p>He lowered his hands from where he found them in the air. </p><p>‘I hope it is, really, I do. But if it’s worth my while, then we’ll all be glad of it, so, no, I guess I’ll keep it to myself, for now.’</p><p>‘I think I understand. I take it you just need to work out who you trust with this secret.’</p><p>‘Yes, and right now, that person is me.’</p><p>Elias laughed a little. ‘I completely understand.’</p><p>‘Martin, just, before I head off back home, can I ask you something?’</p><p>‘Uh, sure!’</p><p>‘Do you often find yourself thinking about others?’</p><p>‘Oh. Um.’</p><p>‘You don’t have to answer that one, just, please try to remember to remember, you don't have to sort everything out for everyone. Just do what you can, and don't get too caught up on what's out of your hands.’</p><p>Elias stood up, and dusted himself down. He held out a hand for Martin to take, but he shook his head, saying he was going to watch the fire for a bit, think some things over. That seemed to please Elias, and as he walked away, Martin breathed out.</p><p>Elias’ advice was probably helpful, but he seemed to have put his finger on Martin’s whole problem. Because really, really, if Martin was honest with himself, he was only just about seeing the limits of what he could control.</p><p>He couldn’t control every situation. He couldn’t even control many situations.</p><p>Despite what he wanted, and what he thought was best, he could not do a thing for his mother. He had to let her go, and accept that he wasn’t in control of everything.</p><p>But he wasn’t going to give up on Tim or Sasha that easily. </p><p>If he waited until Tim understood how dangerous the officers were, it would already be far too far out of hand. And if Martin tried to tell him now, he ran the risk of not being believed, or worse, making himself look suspicious in Tim’s eyes. He couldn’t afford to do anything that might make Tim turn on him, or push him further into the officers' strange little partnership.</p><p>As far as Martin could see, anything he might do to share his plan might put them all at risk, in the end. So he kept it to himself, and watched Jon’s book burn.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Leash</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>SERIOUS TRIGGER WARNING FOR POLICE BRUTALITY</p><p>ep.92 levels of explicit abuse of power by the police, in order to directly hurt a main character.</p><p>Please read safely! I'll be writing a summary of this chapter in the end notes, so please skip if you'd like to continue to read the story without this chapter.</p><p>For any information on a police-free future, follow this link https://www.blackvisionsmn.org/detox or look up Black Visions Collective.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>By lunch, Jon regretted his decision to come in. His hand still burned. The sight of the scorch mark on his desk, framed by claw marks either side, seemed to enliven the embers of that pain. Behind him, the door to his office was taped up with a big fluorescent cross of police tape, and the metal door handle bore the squidgy imprints of a hand, roughly matching the print on his own bandaged hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All statements were taking place in research or the archives, with the majority being pointed to the archives, where the head archivists’ office was more suitable for interview than the loose collection of desks in the research department. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the subjects returning from the archives looked unburdened, something Jon hadn’t seen before. As they rejoined whoever they came with, friends, family, they were full of praise for the new interview process. Jon caught how much better they felt, how good it was to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He supposed Tim had a way about him. He must be a natural. A real people person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Jon overheard what he could in the quiet waiting room that reception had become, and filled in his neglected digital sign in form while the subjects and their relatives waited on chairs in the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a strange second, it reminded Jon of the interview he had for the Magnus Institute, so long ago. It was something about the expectant faces milling about, all confused and nervous and wanting something out of their time spent waiting. The way they’d all clustered in front of Rosie and waited to be called, the way Jon was doing, name by name, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought back to Elias, and wondered how in the world he’d seen anything in him when he’d treated him like that at interview. Perhaps Georgie was right, perhaps Elias was just a dick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon didn’t want to think that though, because that meant facing that he had seen something in him, and had tried with him, and had let that man take care of him for the longest time, longer than he’d let Georgie even try. And he didn’t know what that said about him, so he breathed deeply, and opened the email.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And held back from sighing with resentment when it was from Elias.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And held back from flinging the monitor onto the floor in front of all those people when it was Elias telling him that the treasurer saw no need to renovate Jon’s office, but that he was free to arrange a meeting with him to state his case for the office’s importance, because Elias knew how important that office was to Jon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he jabbed at each key on his laptop and composed an email to Simon Fairchild, the Institute treasurer who had ruled that his office was an unnecessary expenditure with insignificant benefit. Jon struggled to find a polite way to demand a meeting discussing a rethink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At lunch, Jon rose from his chair at the desk, put on the coat he draped over the back, and felt the breast pocket for his cigarettes. Then he patted down his inside pocket for his medication, took up his cane, and stood up to take a trip to the staff breakroom. He wasn’t sure it really counted as lunch, but a cup of tea and a few biscuits would surely be better than taking the medicine on an empty stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sat back down when Martin emerged from the archives though. Jon flagged him down, and he came over eagerly. He asked how Jon was, and Jon made a noncommittal sound and gestured to the state of his reception. Martin hummed sympathetically, and before Jon could even ask, he offered to bring up some tea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And some biscuits, if you wouldn’t mind?’ Jon added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin went ahead to the breakroom, and Jon refreshed his emails, just waiting to see what Fairchild would say. He wanted his office back, it had a kettle, or it had a plug so it could have a kettle, and he had filled his office with things from his own flat, his own blankets, and cushions and crappy artwork he put up when he made the effort to make the place feel a little more comfortable for the subjects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought he could do with a place like that now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cup of tea was a good place to start, and Martin brought back an unopened packet of biscuits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Generous,’ Jon remarked, grateful but too tired to sound it. He cradled the tea in his hands and let the warmth seep through the fingers of his good hand, but it didn’t go very far, so he scarfed down a few biscuits and took his pills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up, and Martin was still there. Jon couldn’t place the look because he didn’t want to see the concern on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If there’s anything else I can do for you, just call down to the archives, okay?’ Martin reassured, and Jon nodded, like that’d be an easy thing for him to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Actually,’ Jon called out, just as Martin was leaving for the stairs. He turned around and waited for Jon to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just while I’ve got you, have </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> seen my book?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he had to explain himself, because however quickly Martin disguised it, Jon caught how his warm smile froze on his face at the mention of this book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s just that there’s a lot missing from the online sign-in form now, so it’d be nice if I could have it back.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, sorry, I haven’t seen it. But I’ll keep an eye out!’ He said, easily, once he softened the shock on his face back to an easy smile. It only took him a second.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Got you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jon thought, and sipped his tea. He let Martin go without issue, and he turned over his suspicions in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought over what Martin might want with his log, and how this played into the investigation, while he carried out his duties. He visited and revisited the facts he knew, while he arranged that meeting with Fairchild for tomorrow. Hitting send, Jon looked around reception, and seeing that no one immediately needed his help, he stole away to the courtyard for a cigarette break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On his return, a thick envelope addressed to Sasha sat in his inbox. He assumed they were statements, and as usual, felt no curiosity towards their content. What did spark his interest was the address, American, and Jon felt a twinge of jealousy. He could do with a holiday too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the day drew to a close, Jon cleared out the subjects from reception and finally relaxed now that he was alone. Alone, but still no closer to retrieving his log. The Institute shut in an hour, and he sat at his desk and thought his options over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon was so concentrated that he almost turned his phone over and ignored the text that came through, but decided against it when he remembered it might be Georgie, with something important to tell him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias Bouchard: Hello Jon. Meant to text earlier, but I spoke to one of the librarians who told me she returned a misfiled book to the archives. Seemed a pretty good match for your book, so I can bring it up to reception tomorrow morning. Have a good evening, Elias. X</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon grit his teeth and resolved himself to find that book before Elias could get his hands on it. His heart raced, he had a chance of taking back just one of the things he’d lost. He could find the information he swore was crucial for the investigation, or at least for his own peace of mind, but he had to act fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes fell on the stairwell to the archives, dark and foreboding, and he finally accepted that there was only one thing he could do. Seeing as he was meant to lap the building when he locked up, he had the perfect reason to be anywhere at all, after closing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if he was lucky, the archivists might just go home on time for once in their lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stairwell was dark, the light from the streetlamp outside only cast a shadow ahead of him. He steeled himself, and went into that darkness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been a torch left behind by Rosie, bequeathed to him at his paranoid induction into the Institute. That was lost to him now, along with everything else in his office, so he took out his phone, ready to use the light to search for just one thing he could take back. His log.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Step by step, he snuck into the archives and hoped against hope that they had all gone home. He didn’t want to explain himself, because it was too important to him, too personal. He knew he’d taken to writing about Elias, which was just one reason why he didn’t want anyone else looking through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness and the silence was reassuring, at first. The air was still, and even as he strained his ears, he couldn’t hear a thing. He padded around, and still finding no sign of life, he switched on the torch, and scanned the archives for the first time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could say that he was just locking up, but he couldn’t find a light switch, he swore he could justify this if pushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The workspace was sizable, three desks spaced out in a room lined with shelves, covered in files, lined with cupboards and filing units. He looked around for any books there, on the desks or on the shelves, and saw nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried one of the cupboards, expecting more storage. It was empty, a few loose documents crumpled at the bottom. He shut the cupboard with a slight clank, and sighed, eying up the two doors leading to new rooms, dark and foreboding. Tim’s office was just to his left, facing into the room. Jon looked into the glass panel in the door. From that panel, a shaft of light tracked across the room as a car went by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon was stuck to the spot until he was certain that no one was here. The only shadow was his, and able to breathe again, he crept further into archives, trying to convince himself that if the archivists did return, he had nothing to hide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was only locking up. He wouldn’t tell them he was looking for a book that they’d both told him they hadn’t seen, but he might say that Elias had told him to start locking up the archives too. He might tell them a multitude of things, but he still hoped he wouldn’t have to tell them anything at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed open a door that opened into a small breakroom, similar to the one upstairs. He wondered, then, why Martin persisted in coming upstairs to the breakroom when they had one just as good here. He didn’t like it. He turned to leave, investigate what lay behind the other door, and just as he broke cover, the silence was shattered once and for all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t pause for thought. Instinctively, Jon dashed for the empty cupboard at the first sound on the stairs. He shut himself in. The door wouldn’t shut entirely, it creaked open and Jon didn’t want to risk pulling it back in and making a sound. So he waited for the lights to flash on, and to be discovered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, Tim, Daisy, and Basira could see well enough in the dark, and they exploded into the archives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Where is he?’ Daisy growled, and Jon’s knees buckled, but he stayed silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He’s here,’ Tim reassured her, measured but holding back on some kind of anger that Jon had never heard before. It sounded wrong in his voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon pressed himself flush to the cupboard’s flimsy metal wall, and he hid, pathetically afraid and certain he was caught anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let me talk to him first, okay?’ Said Tim, and received a noise of assent from Daisy. Basira stayed quiet, but didn’t recommend anything different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Martin,’ Tim called out, and Jon went weak with relief. ‘Martin, I just want to talk.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strode over to the door Jon had been just about to try opening, and knocked hard. Jon watched him through the crack in the cupboard door, eager to see and desperate to remain hidden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Martin, I know you’re in there.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, the door to the next room opened a crack. Another car went by, a slat of light traveled through the archives, and in the second it lingered on Martin’s face, Jon caught the open look of fear on Martin’s face. He didn’t see, but he heard Tim wrench the door the rest of the way open, forcing Jon to consider how strong he really was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the sound of the struggle, the scuff of shoes and the slightest exerted grunt, Jon hid. And he hoped he’d stay hidden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin shrank back from Tim, but he seized him by the front of his cable knit jumper and dragged him into the room. Martin yelped, and stumbled when Tim released him, nearly falling. He was spluttering half asked questions, and in the darkness, knowing Daisy and Basira wouldn’t see, Tim caught his hand and rubbed his thumb over the back of his palm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt the small burner phone in Martin’s hand, and knew that Martin had a plan, even if he didn’t know the specifics. He hadn’t told him, but Tim trusted him. He knew what side he was on. It was just a matter of making sure Martin still knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Martin. The game’s up. We know you haven’t been helping us look for Sasha, and we want to know why.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim resisted asking questions, and Martin knew that if he really wanted the information out of him, all he’d have to do is ask. He felt the phone in his grip, and knew that ultimately, he was as safe as he could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim growled then, loud and frustrated, and Martin felt a jolt through him then. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake, he hoped Tim really was trying, that he wasn’t actually losing control. He flinched back, keenly aware of the way the officers observed the scene in case they had to step in and help Tim. He wasn’t sure whether they’d pull him off him or… not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim shoved Martin hard against the wall, crashed into him, and in the commotion he kissed the side of Martin’s face, just under his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I asked you a question,’ Tim shook Martin’s shoulders with every word, and Martin was acutely aware of the fact that he hadn’t, actually, asked a single question. ‘Now don’t make me force an answer out of you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the fact that he could, easily, that convinced Martin that everything was still under control. So he wailed like he was terrified, and Tim grit his teeth against the rising guilt, the terror that Martin didn’t understand what he was doing. He tightened his hold on Martin’s jumper, and Martin reached for Tim’s hands like he was trying to break his hold over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he rubbed his thumb over the back of Tim’s hand, mirroring the gesture back to Tim and hoping it communicated what he meant it to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I- I- I didn’t know what I was doing! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I just sent you statements that I thought would help! I- I was only doing my best!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim gripped Martin’s jaw, roughly forcing him to look up at him, nails digging into Martin’s soft cheeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those hands had been hurting people, lately, and Martin had the photographic evidence to prove it, all loaded up on that phone. Not that Martin had clean hands. He was the one sending Tim and the officers to investigate those monsters that wound up as gruesome pictures on the phone in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Stop messing us about, Martin. From now on, we’re looking for Sasha and that’s that. Understood?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim’s grip was tight, and Martin could barely nod, but when Tim looked behind him at the officers, they seemed satisfied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let him go, and Martin sank to sitting, on the cusp of real fear and leaning into it for the officers’ sake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come on, let’s get out of here. He won’t be getting in our way any more.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy was ready to go, but Basira, Tim realised, hadn’t moved an inch. Instead, her gaze was fixed on a spot near the back wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hang on.’ She said, a little distant. Tim tensed, hoping that he’d managed to appease them without blowing Martin’s plan, whatever it might be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Basira took a few short steps in the direction she was looking at, and Jon stopped breathing as she stopped right in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Get the lights.’ She instructed, and she ripped open the cupboard door. With a click, Jon was exposed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In one second, it was as if everyone gasped, one big shock. He blinked in the light, and as quickly as that, he was pinned to the wall, arms crossed over his chest, wrists caught in a tight hold, nose stinging and eyes wet where his face was smashed against the hard wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What the hell are you doing down here?’ Basira asked, holding Jon tight as he struggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey, hey, hey, let him go, you can’t do that to him-’ Tim broke in, at her side, one hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged him off sharply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why not?’ Daisy challenged, from Basira’s other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He works here, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be here- don’t! You’ll hurt him like that!’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim’s authority was slipping into pleading, and he choked himself off. He couldn’t lose this, he couldn’t lose what he had with them, he couldn’t let them turn on him, he was risking everything-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s gasp was pained and strangled, and Tim’s head span.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Basira!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Basira held on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Three people go missing in a day, the only thing they have in common is that they crossed paths with him.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tightened her grip on his wrists, and Jon started to protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon writhed in her grasp. ‘What, I? I, I didn’t –’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think he can tell me what he’s doing creeping around here, then I’ll think about letting go.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My book- I was just looking for my book, that’s all. Please-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin went cold, blood drained from his face at the mention of the book, and Elias’ words seemed to ricochet around his mind. If the book’s destruction was influencing Jon, it was too late, but Martin didn’t even consider that it was already too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Basira gave him another short, threatening shove and Jon cut himself off. Martin snapped back into the room, whatever would come next, something had to be done now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d worked too hard to keep the people around him safe just to sit back and watch Jon get hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim tugged on Basira’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We’ll find out about those missing people, okay, but come on I just told Martin about priorities, you’ve gotta let him go, you’re hurting him-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘This is a standard restraint position, he’ll be fine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is normal</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she seemed to say, and Tim recoiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy stood at her other side. ‘Answer her question, what do you know about the missing people?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing!’ Jon cried out, honestly. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Isiah still hasn’t been found, and the paramedics who took you to hospital vanished without a trace. I’ve done some digging, it was their first shift together, they previously had nothing in common with each other, except for meeting you. What do you know?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nothing!’ He repeated, struggling in earnest. ‘Get off me!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was getting cold in the archives, the sharp scent of petrichor rising up through the floor. Perhaps the subtle mist came through an open window in Tim’s office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s in the book? What’s so important to you?’ Basira asked, ultimately just burningly curious, the image of Jon holding the book’s pages to his chest when she tried to look over at the words still embedded in her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t know! I don’t know, let me go!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started to thrash, but Basira held him firm, and Jon scraped his face as he tried to break free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s enough,’ Tim said, but he knew exactly who was in charge of the three of them, and it wasn’t him, and it wasn’t Daisy either. He knew they wouldn’t listen to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their breath was misting in the cold air, the temperature had dropped around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim knew that after this, they may never listen to him again. But it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing he had left. He gave up control and nodded over at Martin. He cringed. He didn’t know whether Daisy was looking at Basira and Jon, or right at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hoped Martin’s plan was a good one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘He said that’s enough,’ Martin commanded, though Basira stayed focused on Jon, Daisy’s head snapped up to look at him. She opened her mouth to retort, but narrowed her eyes at the phone Martin held up. She knew a burner when she saw it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What are you gonna do, call the police?’ Daisy scorned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No! I- I didn’t want it to come to this, but I’ve got evidence on you. Especially Daisy. Everything you’ve done on this investigation is right here. </span>
  <span>You don’t let him go right now, and I’m sending everything on you straight to the station.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy scoffed, and Basira was unmoved. ‘That’s what you’ve been wasting your time doing instead of finding Sasha?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘They don’t care,’ Daisy added.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘About the crime? No, probably not, but I don’t think they’d like that there’s evidence. And you know you’re not the only crooked section 31 cop. How do you think they’d clean up the mess? How would </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> sort this out?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy shut her mouth, but Martin went on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know what you’d do. I’ve got so much on you that the station would never be able to ignore it. You’d be running for the rest of your lives. Both of you. God knows what’d happen if they caught you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wouldn’t dare. I’d kill you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy stepped away from Basira, and moved in on Martin. He took a shuddering breath, stepped back, intimidated, but determined now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sure, sure,’ he sounded desperate, to Jon, still trying to work his wrists out of Basira’s vice like grip. ‘But what does that change, when you and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Basira</span>
  </em>
  <span> would be hunted down for the rest of your lives?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy’s hands curled to fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And maybe I’ll get you now, before you have the chance.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Martin laughed, a breathless thing, humourless too. ‘Before I can press this button? I wouldn’t, if I were you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Daisy just stared at him, and she swore, quietly. ‘You better keep that on you for the rest of your life, Blackwood. You understand?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shock sank in and Basira slackened her grip, but didn’t quite let go. There was something important Jon wasn’t telling her, and she still needed to know. She didn’t want to drop it, and she didn’t want to let him go when Basira had her suspicions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took one look at Daisy, and she shook her head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Basira trusted Daisy knew what she was talking about, knew that Martin wasn’t just trying to spook them. Even if Basira didn’t think their colleagues would go that far, if it was Daisy asking… She dropped Jon immediately, with a disapproving sigh, and whirled around to look at Tim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you want, Martin?’ She asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No more violence. That’s all. When we find Sasha, you’re going to bring her back here no matter what, okay? You lay a finger on me, Tim, Sasha, or, or anyone else, I swear... I’ll ruin you both.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Basira stepped aside, and gave Jon wide berth. He turned around slowly, and took in the room. Tim and Martin on one side of him, unable to look at each other, watching Daisy and Basira, devastated, and powerless to do a thing about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon took a step, and then another, and seeing that no one stopped him, he walked out of the archives as quickly as he possibly could, smart dress shoes echoing in the quiet, clutching his bleeding nose and trying to hold his hurting body together enough to escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one stopped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran out of breath on the landing, bent double and tried not to make a sound. He was split between calling a taxi and getting straight out, or taking the lift to the top of the Institute and speaking to the only person this investigation mattered to at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have to pick. Elias was walking towards him, and then he was running, at the sight of Jon, bloody and dishevelled and frozen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t touch me, leave me alone!’ He hissed, and Elias drew to a stop before him, arms raised placatingly, out of Jon’s reach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What… what happened to you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon looked at the blood on his hands and felt a wave of nausea go through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just take me home, I’ll tell you on the way, please?’</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter Summary:<br/>When asked about Jon's book, Martin visibly reacts so he begins to suspect that he's taken it. Elias texts Jon with enough information to lead Jon to believe that his book is in the archives, so he goes to the archives after the institute is closed, and has a look around. the archives seem empty, but Jon can't find his book. Then Basira, daisy, and Tim come back, and Tim pulls Martin out of his room in document storage. Tim intimidates Martin, but tries to communicate that its all an act. Martin tries to communicate back that he understands, and pretends to be more afraid than he is. Tim, Daisy and Basira are angry because Martin's not been contributing to the investigation, and Martin claims incompetence. Sufficiently intimidating, Tim encourages Daisy and Basira to leave, but Basira's noticed something weird. </p><p>She finds Jon's hiding spot, restrains him in a 'standing basket hold' and injures him in the process. Tim and Daisy argue about this, Tim demands they let him go, but ultimately realises he's powerless to stop them. He signals to Martin to take over and put his plan into action, and Martin blackmails the officers with evidence he's slowly collected, into letting Jon go. Finally, Jon is allowed to leave, and he runs away where he meets Elias, and demands he takes them home.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Many Ways To Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>First of all, thank you so very, very much to sangguinne who edited, reviewed, nurtured, and honestly just helped this chapter to high hell! some of my favourite lines in this one are theirs, they have such a fantastic way with words, and this monster of a chapter would not be the same without their skill and input- not to mention their time and effort spent reading and rereading and brainstorming! This chapter, but this whole fic, owes a lot to their time and help, so I just wanted to say hello, and a huge thank you!! go read their stuff if you like Tim and / or Jontim!</p>
<p>Secondly, thank you for continuing to read this story as it just about reaches its concluding chapters! my writing schedule has been taken out back and shot, and these chapters will continue to be p hefty and will need some waiting on. This fic will not be the end of the series, but it will certainly present us with a finale that I hope you're looking forward to reading as much as I'm looking forward to writing!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jon talked the whole journey back. He didn’t want to. He kept looking around for Elias’ reaction, and even though he kept his face straight to the road ahead, Jon felt watched. Spectated upon. He didn’t want to give up any more of this experience than he had to, and yet he wiped the blood off his face, winced, and spoke, all while Elias listened quietly and unbearably curious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They pulled up in the parking outside of Elias’ flat, so far above them at the top of the skyscraper, once so intimidating to Jon. He was confused, for a moment. Then the realisation left him awkward, and he wasn’t sure how to phrase what he meant. But he gave it a try.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I didn’t mean here. I meant where I’m staying with my friend. Not here.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This wasn’t home. It never had been, Jon realised, craning his neck to look up at the place he’d lived with Elias for all that time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias stayed in the driver’s seat, switched the engine off and remained. Jon supposed that what he said was hurtful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’ll call you a taxi. I’m sorry, it’s just you said home, and I thought-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No. A taxi, that’d be lovely. Thank you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He forced out his manners in a voice of ice. Elias nodded, once, and got out. He walked around and opened the door for Jon. Jon pulled a face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I thought you were calling a taxi?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You can’t wait out here!’ Said Elias, aghast. Then he thought more carefully. ‘Well, you’re welcome to, but you’re equally welcome inside. You look like you could do with a drink.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Of tea? Or water?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon regarded him silently, and turned the offer over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s okay, I’ll call the taxi now, just shut my car door when you go? Please don’t leave it open.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon sighed, and heaved himself out of the passenger seat. He shut the door behind him, and leant against the car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, I’ll freeze out here.’ He hefted himself out of the car, and grabbed at Elias’ arm easily, more easily than the cane that never had been adjusted to his height, that he never had been taught how to use properly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Besides, we haven’t even talked about what this means for the investigation.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walked into the skyscraper so familiar to him, and got in the lift. Jon didn’t look at Elias. The space was too confined, squeezed against him for balance, it was all too close, and Jon kept his eyes to the floor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The doors opened, and Jon would spring out, but Elias held him back. Jon pulled at him, and he blinked, as if lost in thought, and they stepped out of the lift arm in arm and Jon wanted to rip himself from Elias.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he dropped to the sofa and shuffled to one side of it. He crossed his ankles and folded his arms, and Elias left for the kitchen, open plan. Jon watched him put the kettle on, and waited for his nervous energy to dissipate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It didn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So, if the officers investigating are currently being blackmailed by potential suspects, then who can be trusted to actually investigate Gertrude’s murder?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias handed over the tea and sat down next to Jon, leaving a distance between them. Jon took a sip and wrinkled his nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I made it sweet because you’ve certainly had a shock.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon hissed back, ‘it wasn’t a shock, it was traumatic.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He steadied his breathing, chest constricting painfully. Elias nodded, quick to agree, and Jon sipped at his tea, desperate to calm down. He was gripping the mug hard enough to shake, drops spilling over the edge. He held on. He had to hold on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘But back to the issue at hand, how do we solve the murder when the police are… completely, and utterly compromised? Do we even have a motive?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias tapped on his jaw, thinking. It was painful how well Jon knew these gestures, how well he knew Elias, and yet how far from him he felt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So you said it was Martin blackmailing the officers?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You just called him a suspect. Why?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon smiled confidently. That one was easy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, he stole my book, and I was writing my observations there. He’s going after potential evidence, and the fact he’s blackmailing the police investigating the murder in his workplace is, obviously, very suspicious. He either did it, or Tim did, and Martin’s protecting him.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He considered the thought of protection for a little moment longer, drank more of that sickly tea, and tried not to feel Elias’ eyes on him. He gave him a sidelong look, and Elias directed his gaze directly into his own mug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘But even if he did it, he still put his life on the line for me. And he has absolutely no motive. So maybe he’s protecting Tim, but... I don’t know, the motive still doesn’t make any sense. Neither of them could have even killed her for the job, they had to go through an interview!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon laughed darkly, ‘imagine that, you kill an old woman for her job, and then someone else gets it because they interviewed better. No, it, that doesn’t make any sense.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tapped his fingernails on the mug, before he looked to Elias. He laughed along with Jon, and smiled wryly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Have you considered the person who could kill an old woman </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> interview well?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The comment caught Jon off guard, and he snorted. Then he screwed up his face in disgust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why can’t you take this seriously? Somebody died, and the police don’t care, they’re too caught up with whatever they have going on with Martin and Tim, for Christ’s sake I think you and I are the only ones who know or care enough to do something about this.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias hummed his agreement, but didn’t offer anything of use. Jon boiled over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do you know </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span> about the archives?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elias just shrugged his shoulders like they were heavy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I didn’t even know there was an investigation. I don’t know what use I am, but I want to help. I suppose I’m frightened. Until we know who did it, and why, we don’t know whether or not they might target others.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s blood ran cold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’m sure I’m just being paranoid-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, no, I think you might be… is it paranoia if there really is a killer on the loose? And the suspects are blackmailing the police, who are colluding with the other suspect, and they’re not even good police officers </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was shaking again. There was no more tea in the mug to spill over.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘When’s that taxi coming?’ He asked, hoarse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh, I’ll call them now.’ Elias took out his phone, and Jon tuned out, telling Elias Georgie’s address when prompted, regretting it immediately, just in case.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘They’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded, wiped his face and felt the blood fall from his face in flakes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m going to wash up. Don’t let me miss that taxi if it comes early.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon stalked off to the bathroom, using the walls for support, and entered the bedroom. He still hated how every room in this flat was connected to another, the kitchen in view of the living room, the en-suite bathroom right in the bedroom, exactly as he’d left it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pristine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon ran the taps and stared at himself in the mirror. He carefully removed his glasses, now scratched, and the thin wire frame splintered in his hands. He sighed, and set them down on the bathroom sink. Being shortsighted, he could still see his face and the bruises blooming down the sides of his nose, the scrape on his cheek, red and raw. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He cupped the cool water in his hands, and let the blood flow away. It stung. If Georgie was still up when he came back, he might ask her to take a look at the cuts and bruises.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He examined his face once more. One great deep scar on one cheek, a scrape on the other. They both hurt. He’d get over it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clean, he headed back to the living room, still gripping those walls.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh perfect, just in time. The taxi’s just arrived.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded curtly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Shall I walk you out?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon laughed then, a little sharp. ‘I know the way, Elias. Don’t worry.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Right. Oh, and before you go, this is something I was looking into when we were still together, so I don’t know how you’d feel about it now, but, here. Take this. And think about it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He handed Jon a small business card, and he took it, disdainfully. He turned it over in his hands. On the back, a number and a house address. On the front, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jared Hopworth, Chiropractor </span>
  </em>
  <span>emblazoned on the front.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s all pre-paid, like I say, it’s something I was looking into a while ago, but it came in the mail today.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon didn’t believe him, but he couldn’t reasonably argue, so he slipped the business card into his breast pocket and promised he’d think about it. Elias smiled, wearily, and Jon left him, again. As promised, he knew where the taxi would pick him up in the carpark, and he went, staring out of the window until the taxi driver took him home at last.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paid the driver and got out in front of Georgie’s block of flats. He walked over to the door, and braced himself against the wall as he pressed the button on the intercom for her flats. He held down the button and heard the tone ring out, and hoped he wasn’t waking her up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At last, she responded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Fuck, Jon, that’d better be you otherwise I’m opening the door to a serial killer.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He laughed, quietly. ‘It’s me alright.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sorry, I dropped off, thought you were staying the night somewhere else. It was hard enough to get you to take a week off from the job, thought you might just have upped and moved into the Institute to keep away-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opened the door to the block of flats, and Jon folded, collapsing on her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh my god.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d explain later. She wasn’t worried, she couldn’t worry if she tried, but she could just see the state he was in. She helped him up the stairs to her place, and took him back to the spare bedroom.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought he’d rush through an explanation, anything to make this make sense to Georgie, the outsider who’d taken him in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t speak. He tried, and she waited, but there weren’t words. The hundreds he’d had for Elias when he asked were not there when Jon tried to explain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t force it. Jon went to bed, and slept until the alarm he set woke him up for work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She still didn’t ask. He still didn’t tell. The bruises had flourished, and the graze on his cheek had opened in the night. He got ready for work. He had a meeting. And the answers he needed were not at home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seemed Jon always regretted coming in to work by the time he was at the front desk. Today, it was the openly curious faces staring at him from the seats lining the walls in reception. He’d learned to ignore it when he’d first come back to work, after the infestation, and he could ignore it now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So much so that he barely noticed Tim striding up to his desk until he was already there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hey.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon flinched. Tim stepped back, a little, giving Jon some space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked grave. For the first time since Jon had known him, Tim wasn’t even making an attempt at a smile, and his face looked empty for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Good morning,’ Jon replied, aiming for neutral but still sounding wary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim offered Jon his cane, propping it up against the desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You left this downstairs yesterday. I tried texting last night, but it didn’t go through, so I thought I’d wait until the morning.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon raised an eyebrow. ‘And here you are.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And here I am. Look, Jon, you must have a lot of questions about- certain events yesterday.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s look was piercing. ‘That doesn’t even begin to cover it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And you need that cleaned, like, asap,’ Tim added, gesturing vaguely to his own cheek. Jon huffed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim’s voice was low and conspiratorial when he spoke next.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘The officers are out today, and they’re staying out all day. Martin’s arranged something for them to do. It’s only me and him in the archives today, so, if you want to discuss the investigation, and get some answers about yesterday, then my office is… confidential.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon searched his face like Tim’s intentions could be written there if Jon could only discern them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And you really need that scrape cleaned, otherwise it’s going to get all infected, and gross, and-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And the archives are really the only place I can find an antiseptic wipe?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim sighed, looked terribly deflated. ‘I can bring the first aid kit up, if you like, but if you want answers I’m not telling you anything out in the open, I can not risk being overheard. Okay?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A long moment passed between them as Jon considered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He flicked open the drawer in his desk, and fished out a plaque engraved with the words ‘back in 10 minutes.’ He placed it squarely in the centre of his desk, before he stood up. The scrape of his chair drew the attention of the waiting subjects. Their disappointed faces followed Jon as he walked around to the front of the desk, next to Tim.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, you said I needed looking at immediately.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unable to help himself, Tim looked Jon up and down. A smile finally inched back onto his face. ‘That I did. Let’s go.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walked past the waiting subjects and ignored their quiet huffs and sighs and rustling jackets, the quiet sounds of disapproval fading as they descended the staircase to the archives.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon ignored the foreboding he felt. The new silence was oppressive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You’re using your cane wrong.’ Tim blurted out, the knowledge heavy against his skull until he let it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hm.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And you’re going to get worse if you don’t learn how to do it right. And get it properly adjusted.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Get worse?’ Jon countered, as if entertaining Tim with the possibility.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yeah, it’ll mess up your posture, and then that’ll really hit your muscles where they don’t need hitting, and it really can’t feel good on your shoulder-’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stepped into the archives, and Tim walked in front of Jon to face him. Jon was giving him an openly sceptical look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And how would you know all that?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If telling people that he just knew was as convincing as it was frustrating, he’d have a lot less explaining to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Um, my Dad uses a cane.’ He hadn’t thought about his dad in a long time. He didn’t want to now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded. ‘Then do you know the right way to go about it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim shook his head. The Eye wasn’t helpful. Tim realised too late that he probably only had the information in the first place because it was frightening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Screw the Eye</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, and tried to think back to his dad while ignoring the rawer feelings at hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Um, actually, yeah, a bit. Make sure you’ve got the cane in the correct hand. It’s on the opposite side to your weaker leg. Other than that, it’s like, specific to you. You should talk to a physical therapist, they’ll know!’ He added brightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon tutted again, and swapped hands. He still looked uncomfortable, but Tim’s office was right there, so he held the door open. Jon rolled his eyes and stepped in, collapsing heavily on the swivel chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon leaned back on the chair, elbows resting on the armrests and glowered up at Tim with such intensity that Tim was compelled to look back, take a self-indulgent moment to see Jon’s strong brow furrow, long fingers tap impatiently on the arm rest, the way he stretched out in the seat and imposed upon the space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It suited him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim averted his gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘First aid kit’s in the kitchen, I could do you some tea, a biscuit maybe?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sure.’ He answered dismissively. ‘Why does Martin come up to the general break room when you have your own?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking out into the archives, Tim didn’t even have to suppress his smile at the first of Jon’s caustic questions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Because he fancies you, and he really can’t think of a better excuse to see you than to walk through reception to the breakroom.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim took great joy in the spluttering he heard in his office behind him. He put the kettle on, and picked the first aid kit from the cupboard. Took the biscuits too. He got three mugs ready, made three cups of tea and ducked into document storage with one mug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Knock knock,’ He told Martin as he pushed open the door into document storage. Martin looked up from the statement and smiled. Tim walked over to his fold out bed, next to a wall lined with the most valuable documents. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Brought tea.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Amazing,’ Martin held out his hands, and Tim gave him the mug and a peck on the forehead. It was nice to be affectionate when he could, out of sight of the officers. When they’d come back tomorrow he’d be cold and abrasive and treat Martin like a tyrant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Brought Jon, too. He’s in my office.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin raised an eyebrow. ‘Exciting times!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Told him you only go up to their breakroom to see him.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Martin choked on the sip he’d taken. ‘You didn’t!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I did! Hate to love you and leave you, but I said I’d answer some of his questions and clean up this nasty scrape he’s got. I promise I’ll tell him I like him too!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Can you not?’ Martin called out after him, and Tim laughed. He tucked the first aid kit under his arm, and took the cups of tea over. The packet of biscuits were forgotten on the side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He bumped his hip into the door to let himself into his office, and Jon turned in his chair to look, refusing to be taken off guard. He’d been looking out of the window. He didn’t know Tim’s office faced the car park. He wondered if Tim had seen him waiting for Elias. If he’d seen him get into his car. Had watched them argue. Or watched as Jon let their crossed words go with a cool kiss to the back of his hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How much did Tim know about him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim set the mugs down on the desk, and the first aid kit fell to the floor. Tim bent over to pick it up, and Jon, already looking, saw where Tim’s shirt rode up and exposed a sliver of skin at the small of his back. Then he put the first aid kit on the table, opened it, and took out the antiseptic wipes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You and Martin,’ Jon started, trying to begin somewhere in the realm of small talk before he remembered he was no good at it. He came out with it in a rush after spending too long casting his mind out for the right words and turning up empty. ‘Have you split up, then?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What he wanted to understand was Martin’s attraction to him, and Tim’s aggression yesterday, and trying to find a single motive for Martin to step in to protect him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, we’re still together. Gonna get in your personal space a bit now, unless you want to do it yourself.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon tilted his face up, expectantly, and looked at Tim through lowered eyelids. Tim </span>
  <span>was the one who warned him, but as he leaned into his space, he felt his own breath catch. Swallowing, bracing himself, he</span>
  <span> gently circled the scrape with the antiseptic, cleaning the skin around the wound. </span>
</p>
<p><span>‘No offence, but after yesterday, how?’ Jon asked</span><span>, raising a brow.</span> <span>Instinctively, Tim reached out to still him with a thumb at his cheekbone. The unexpected softness surprised him. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>‘Stay still.’ Tim chided</span>
  <span>, a little breathless. He cleared his throat and carried on,</span>
  <span> ‘And because we were acting. You know, for the cops. They think I’m working with them, and that I forced Martin to comply. They have no idea we’re dating.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon, </span>
  <span>it seemed, was </span>
  <span>absolutely unwilling to take Tim’s advice to stay still</span>
  <span>. He met Tim’s gaze and deliberately </span>
  <span>asked another question. ‘And now?’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim was taken aback at the intensity and the suddenly overwhelming scrutiny, lost his entire train of thought for a second. </span>
</p>
<p><span>‘Okay,</span><span>’ he said, tearing his eyes away, trying to bring his mind back on track. H</span><span>e carefully soaked some gauze in clean water</span><span> before warning </span><span>Jon.</span> <span>‘This is gonna sting</span><span>, by the way.’ Jon nodded, Tim brought the gauze up, trying to be gentle, but Jon still hissed at the contact. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Without thinking, Tim cupped Jon’s face and rubbed his thumb over Jon’s other cheekbone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry,’ Tim muttered</span>
  <span>. Jon's eyes were wide, like he hadn't expected the contact, like he didn't know what to do with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, no, you</span>
  <span>," Jon almost stammered, his heart suddenly pounding, ‘You</span>
  <span> warned me. Go on.’ Tim carried on dabbing Jon’s face, and began to speak again, needing to break the silence. </span>
  <span>Jon concentrated very hard on what he was saying, but Tim's hand stayed where it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So, now they think that Martin’s threatening me alongside them, so I’m pretending to hate him. I’m acting like he was plotting behind my back, so if you see me being all emo at him, then that’s fake, but also, it means the officers are about, so keep your distance, I guess.’ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon blinked, making sure to keep up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So, </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> you in on Martin’s plan?’ </span>
  <span>He clarified. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Um?’ Tim thought about how to answer. ‘Sort of, but not really? I knew he was up to something, and I trust him, so I just let him get on with it. He knows I’m just distracting the cops until we find Sasha, and I figured he was putting something in place for when we do. It was better that I didn’t know, couldn’t accidentally give him away, then.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon sat and contemplated the new light that put on yesterday’s events.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why did he get involved, when they… began interrogating me?’ Jon asked</span>
  <span>, quietly</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I asked him to.’ Tim said, </span>
  <span>solemn. Paired with the hand softly cupping Jon's face, the admission felt significant,</span>
  <span> ‘The cops think I’m their friend, and then they weren’t listening to me, so I gave him a nod because I knew he had something up his sleeve, and he did. Seems like they didn’t spot it, so we’re pretty safe, for now.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took his hands off Jon</span>
  <span>, and his skin immediately missed the warmth. Jon tamped down on the urge to reach up and touch the spot, mentally telling himself to get a grip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim searched through the box, until he finally</span>
  <span> picked out a wide plaster from the kit. He leaned in, steadying himself on Jon’s shoulder, and Jon </span>
  <span>purposely</span>
  <span> stared </span>
  <span>past him,</span>
  <span>focusing </span>
  <span>instead</span>
  <span> on one dangling earring, sparkling in the sunlight slipping through the slats of the blinds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But when we pulled his gaze back up, helpless, he saw </span>
  <span>Tim </span>
  <span>already watching him</span>
  <span>, watching the sun pooling in red crescents in Jon’s dark eyes. </span>
  <span>He continued to look, endeared as he took in the way that Jon's</span>
  <span> cheeks began to flush before his very eyes.  Smiling faintly, he positioned the plaster carefully over Jon’s darkening cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was quiet, and Tim concentrated as well as he could as he smoothed it down. His fingertips pushed past the edges of the plaster, making sure it was secure, </span>
  <span>but the warmth of Jon's skin against his was enough for his fingers to linger on.</span>
  <span> Jon was frozen under him, and blinked, his eyelashes fluttering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a second, Tim ached. Then the memory of squeezing Martin’s jaw in his hands resurfaced once again- </span>
  <span>how we hadn't needed to go that far to sell it to the cops, how he hadn't needed to grip that hard. How he hadn't needed to leave those marks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon's skin was so soft under his fingertips, warm and vulnerable, but his hands could remember the violence. Could remember the heat of Martin's blood. Trembling, he snatched back his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘There.’ </span>
  <span>He said quietly, his breath shaking only a little. Out of Jon's sight, he clenched his fist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon breathed out</span>
  <span>, appearing to </span>
  <span>relax again, and Tim kicked himself for making Jon uncomfortable. </span>
  <span>For letting himself be so selfish.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Thank you.’ Jon’s voice was low, quiet, but full of some unnamable emotion</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> He cleared his throat, looked away, and </span>
  <span>Tim hated himself. He watched Jon reach up to </span>
  <span>readjust the glasses he wasn’t wearing today</span>
  <span>, aborting the action halfway, and felt that same terrible fondness. He swallowed it down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So, what do you know about Gertrude’s death?’ Jon asked, serious again and determined not to dwell on that shared moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim took his mug and leant heavily on his desk, as if he needed the support, before pulling himself back into the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘She was shot three times in the chest and left in the tunnels about two years ago.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Great. Who are our suspects?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim laughed. ‘Me, Martin, and Sasha, according to the official investigation.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s face was unamused. ‘Just in case, can I ask if you did kill her?’ Tim let out a burst of laughter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, and neither did Martin. Or Sasha. It’s just that we all worked here before we came to the archives, making us suspicious, I guess.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon threw up a hand, getting frustrated. ‘Well, what about her assistants?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Huh?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon went on, amazed no one had considered it before. ‘She was Head Archivist, she had archival assistants like you, yes? Hasn’t anyone investigated them?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim gave Jon an odd look, as if he should know better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Jon, her assistants are all dead. The assistants before them are mostly dead too, except Elias.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon kept his voice level, determined not to make his words on Elias too suspicious. He couldn’t have anyone looking into his relationship with Elias and discovering it was less than professional or successful. The thought alone was unbearable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well, has anyone investigated him then? He might at least know something about Gertrude.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim looked unconvinced. ‘I dunno. If he survived her, then somehow I doubt he has the full picture.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And what the hell does that mean?’ Jon asked, and Tim looked away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Seems Gertrude lived by the sword and very much died by it. Those distractions I told you about? When I go after random leads to win them over? Well, lots of those guys have quite a lot to say about Gertrude and the people she got killed.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Gertrude was somehow implicated in the deaths of her assistants?’ Jon clarified, and Tim leaned in again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Way more than implicated. Directly responsible. As in, she got them killed.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Can I ask how?’ Jon asked, prim. </span>
  <span>Tim shot him a look. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Okay, one time, one of her assistants jabbed his eyes out, got murdered by one of Gertrude’s friends, and about two decades later, she was caught mutilating the corpse of that assistant’s son, but charges were dropped.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon wasn’t sure if Tim was joking, and significantly more macabre than he thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim simply hummed in agreement. ‘And that’s just one of them. Every single assistant under her, bar Elias, met a messed up end. I can’t lie, I want to find out who killed her, but if they don’t want to take their chances with another Head Archivist, then I don’t know, I might just kiss them. She… she was a piece of shit, to be honest, Jon.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon took a sip of his tea, stunned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do you know the name of this assistant? Kind of want to look that one up for myself.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hoped Tim wouldn’t be offended. Instead, he nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Sure thing, his name was Eric Delano, and his son was Gerard Keay.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Thanks. And thank you for answering my questions. I’m sorry you’re in this situation with the officers.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim shrugged. ‘It is what it is. And Martin’s really played a blinder, once they make an arrest and get put on a new case, I really think they’ll leave us alone.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No choice, if getting in your way will risk their lives.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought went through him, and Tim realised he really didn’t want it to end that way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I just want to know one last thing,’ Jon asked, and Tim nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Shoot.’ He gestured with his open hands, and Jon fixed him with a searching look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why are you looking for Sasha? These officers are dangerous, they chased her off, and if you’re looking this hard, she clearly doesn’t want to be found. Why not leave her out of it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim went cold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We’re in touch. She knows I’m looking for her, and she’s fine with it. Reckons I won’t find her until she’s ready.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Then why not give up, she’ll come back when she wants to.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim shook his head like a twitch. ‘She’ll come back when the cops are gone, but the cops won’t go until they arrest someone, but I reckon Sasha’s the only one who can crack this, at least, the only one of us investigating. Once she’s back, she’ll figure it out, and then… then everything will be back on track.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was sceptical. But he knew what someone clinging to something looked like, so he let it go. And he made a note to keep a better eye on the parcels of work addressed to her weekly. He still thought that if Sasha wanted to stay away, then her wishes should be respected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘She really is cool with me looking for her, though. I’m quite upfront about it. She’s even started giving me clues. Here, look at this,’ Tim opened his phone and Jon was confronted with an image of Sasha wearing heart shaped sunglasses. Reflected in one of the lenses was ‘ACAB’, in the other, ‘ILU TIM’. Her smile was bright, warm, and her red flannel shirt slung over her shoulders suited her. Jon had never seen her in anything other than business casual. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Have you read it yet?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I love you Tim?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim choked, and Jon smiled, just a little mischievously. He knew exactly what he was doing, and Tim, being greedy and curious, had to know how far he could push the strict receptionist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Love you too, Jon, now read the message!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mortified, Jon read the message. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>'Wow, you actually nearly found me that time, shame I’m in a whole other continent now- better luck next time x'</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Okay, you’ve convinced me that she’s fully comfortable with the situation. So you’re actually fine with Martin, and pretending you loathe him, you don’t think Sasha killed anyone, but you’re hunting her down, and you hate those officers, but you’re pretending to work with them for your own ends? Have I got all this right?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Most of it was true. ‘That’s the long and short of it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And you don’t know anything else about Gertrude because you’re banking on Sasha solving a freezing cold case when she… feels like bothering?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘When it’s safe. Which it is now, but, yeah.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And…’ Jon asked, trying to find the sensitive way of phrasing it. ‘If she doesn’t… want to come back… ever?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim scrunched his face up. ‘Nah, she’ll be coming back. I know it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon, still sceptical but truly unwilling to push it and see Tim’s face fall, started to draw himself up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Better send some subjects down, they’ll be rioting up there if I leave them too long.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tim agreed, quickly, feeling the moment pass as Jon walked towards the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘And thank you, Tim, for… for explaining it all to me. I really appreciate being involved in this, so please don’t count me out if there are any important updates.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Tim was so glad Jon was standing even that short distance from him, because if it wasn’t for the space between him, Tim was sure he’d do something as stupid as put his arms around Jon and squeeze. As if he could trust himself to do something like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Of course,’ he said instead, resuming his seat behind his desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon left the archives and returned to the front desk, fielded complaints and directed a few subjects to Google Reviews to vent some of their frustrations there because it wasn’t Jon’s job to hear it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That did little to de-escalate or resolve anybody’s issues, and Jon felt bad sending the livid people to research or to the archives. He spent the hours passing forms and taking complaints, counting down until his meeting with Fairchild thinking about how useful it would be to have another office space right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The minutes ticked down, and Jon didn’t know what he was going to say or how he was going to say it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He left five minutes early, just to give himself enough time to get to the top floor of the Institute without any delays. He walked down the corridor, past the library, to the lift at the end of the corridor. There were three floors in the Magnus Institute, and other than him, all of upper management were based on the top floor. He’d never been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The meeting was described in the email as informal, taking place in Fairchild’s office over lunch. Supposedly just a short chat. Jon waited outside the door, Tim and the investigation and the thought of a murderer all heavy on his mind. For a second, Jon thought that if asked why he cared about the office, he might tell Fairchild that he just needed somewhere to hide. That brought a dry laugh to his mouth just as Fairchild opened the door to his office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon pretended he was looking at his phone, put it away, and they shook hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fairchild’s office was luxury. Jon remembered being impressed by the sight of his own office, when he’d first had the job, but this outclassed it easily. The room, large and minimalist, was still spotted with interesting curios from around the world, gesturing towards some life lived adventurously. The view was more impressive than Jon might have imagined for a three story building, he could see further than he would have imagined. He guessed they were higher up than he first thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fairchild walked easily with his cane, dark wood with topped with a gold ornament. Jon’s looked  istinctly medical in comparison. Simon’s suit was vintage, well tailored, and Jon hoped it wasn’t too obvious that his own trousers were from a women’s department store, like his blouse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat when finally invited to, and Simon asked Jon to explain why, in the grand scheme of things, the office in reception actually needed to be refurbished.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon floundered for a second, and brought up waiting times. Simon countered easily, as though moving a piece across a chessboard, stating that the subjects were seen to, so there was no issue there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon tried again by passing on the subject dissatisfaction. Simon immediately dismissed the importance, reminding Jon that the Institute was primarily a scholarly institution funded by universities and private collectors. Subject satisfaction would earn them nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was stunned for a minute. Then he leaned in, resting his elbows on the mahogany desk and taking a pretty grim view of the tasteful, boastful decor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He suggested that it might make a bad impression, leaving the first room in the Institute in a state of disrepair. Simon shrugged it off claimed that appearances counted for less than people thought. He added that most things counted for less than most people thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘People are always sweating the small stuff, don’t you find, Jonathan? There’s a million things going on in the background, but you strip it all away, and what really matters, huh? What’s the point?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes, we could all try and maintain some perspective about what really matters in life.’ He agreed, testily, wanting his office and worried that Simon might just be ready to resign before he’d sign off on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon narrowed his eyes. ‘Look out there, Jonathan, all of London’s right there. No, really, take a look.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon couldn’t say he prided his ability to keep his face neutral, but he was sure the expression he made was ugly, as Simon laughed a bit. But it was his meeting, so Jon hauled himself up, and walked over to the window. It was a large pane of very thick glass in a very, very large window. It took up almost half of the side wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘How many houses, flats, apartments, do you reckon?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon didn’t care. He made like he was thinking about it. ‘Maybe seven, eight million?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could say he was proud of his general knowledge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Give or take a few thousand, yes, that’s roughly the population of London. Now, here’s a statistic you won’t find on a gameshow, how many problems do you think there are in London?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon looked back at him, about to tell him the question was absurd. Simon laughed at his slack jaw, clapped his hands and leaned back in his executor’s chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s simple maths, you take the number of problems each person has, and multiply it by the population. How many problems does each person have?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon sighed, the point being made without having to go through with this spectacle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘More than their fair share, I’d argue.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon narrowed his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I like you, Jonathan,’ he lied, and Jon felt like he was in school again, after he’d got on the wrong side of everyone’s favourite teacher. ‘But what makes you think that your problems are that… big of a deal? You have to understand, in an Institute like this, reception just isn’t really a priority.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was about to retort, he was sure he was about to make his most convincing answer yet, when a timer went off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s screwed up his face as he watched the old man pull out a sleek Iphone and turn off the timer. He put it back into the inside pocket of his blazer, and looked back at Jon, shocked and offended.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m an old man, Jonathan, time is very precious to me. And I’m extraordinarily busy, really, I’m out of this office more than I’m in it!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon thought about testing that, when the sight of a wall lined with expectant faces made him want to run to somewhere private and scream. Maybe he’d try Fairchild’s office, if it was free.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered why Fairchild had even bothered to speak to him, turned over the idea that it might be some spiteful joke on Elias’ part. They worked together often enough, according to the admin, and met in almost all the meetings Jon organised for them as not one of them would circulate an email of their own volition.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon was glad he set Tim on interrogating Elias, then, just for a little payback.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon was leaving the room, and Jon was still staring out of the window, bitter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook himself and followed Simon out of the room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Captivating, isn’t it?’ Simon prompted, and Jon realised they were heading towards the same lift.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Quite,’ he replied without conviction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon trailed behind Simon who looked twice his age. He slowed to accommodate him, and the silence stretched on. Any case for his office had evaporated in Jon, leaving him with nothing more than disappointment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stepped into the lift together, and the silence was oppressive now. The doors closed in around them, and Simon looked him up and down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon put his back to the wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’d say I hate to do this, but as far as favours go, this isn’t exactly trouble, for me.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their eyes met, and before Jon could ask, the lift gave an almighty squeal. The floor shook. Jon’s eyes widened, and he looked to Simon. He smiled, leaned back, and the lift dropped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon would scream, but the air was punched from his lungs and he could only gasp as the lift fell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Hard to scream at terminal velocity,’ Simon taunted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon’s knees were liquid, he held onto the wall for dear life as they fell, ribs aching, terror spiking as he anticipated the ground. His hair was dragged up into the air, and he sucked a few agonizing breaths through his tight chest, sure they’d be his last.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Shuts you right up, doesn’t it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon’s voice was even more jovial, even more friendly, and Jon blinked back tears wrenched from his eyes by the freefall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You were so chatty, had an answer for everything. Really, nothing to say now?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The words were ripped from his throat by the speed of falling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Your sense of self importance really is astounding. Just who do you think you are? Taking up my time, asking for my money, to fix your office? Relax, no one cares what reception looks like. Get over yourself, already, it’s stressful just being around you.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The roof crunched, and Simon had to duck. He laughed, ‘interesting! That hasn’t happened before.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon looked at the ceiling, and a memory stirred. He clenched his hands to fists, and </span>
  <span>lowered</span>
  <span> his gaze to Simon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Don’t try anything. I haven’t decided whether or not I’ll let you reach the ground. Don’t know how much I owe my old friend after all.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon narrowed his eyes, and pushed, bearing his teeth with the effort. The very walls whined, then folded like paper. Simon faltered, before he resumed an uneasy smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I-interesting little trick. I wasn’t warned of this, but I should have expected it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The drop, the vertigo, the endless fall down and his body’s unceasing panic, through the adrenaline and rage, Jon made a decision. Simon was watching him warily, that ridiculous smile still hanging onto his lips, and Jon... didn't want to take this. Jon wanted to hurt him back. T</span>
  <span>he walls began to press inwards. Simon felt them shift under his sweating palms, and dug his heels into the carpet like he could push the walls back. Instead, Simon lost ground, got pushed a little closer to the centre of the small space, getting smaller.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The air was close and cold, misting up with their shared shaky breaths, and Simon began to panic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, no, you can’t- you have no right to- you can’t do this to me!’ He screamed, and Jon cracked a wide, bright eyed smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The walls lurched, pressing them in closer, and Simon slammed his fist against the wall Jon clung to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You bury me, and I swear you’ll never come down, you understand? Is that what you want?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I want,’ Jon heaved around the words, and Simon leaned in. The walls closed around him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I want,’ Jon repeated, speaking painful and quiet under the screaming wind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What?’ Simon seized Jon’s arms, would shake him if there was room. ‘What do you want?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon laughed, as if delirious, his dark hair whipping around him, blouse rippling, and Simon gripped tighter and tighter as the lift constricted and plummeted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Want you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>leave</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’ Jon hissed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon looked at him, incredulous. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Will you let me?’ He demanded, failing to hide the terror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I slow us down, you promise you won’t just crush us both anyway?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I want. To be. Alone.’ Jon forced out of gritted teeth. Eye to eye, Simon understood that he didn’t have a choice. The walls were coming in anyway. He took a chance, and the lift began to screech to a halt, metal grinding against hurtling metal. The weight doubled, trebled, and as the lift began to slow from its free fall, Jon began to scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They landed with the terrifying clank of metal on metal. The impact should have killed them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Jon, still feeling the impossible tightness of the walls closed in on him, forced himself to breathe. In, slowly, and out again. The lift began to expand, and Simon backed away until there was no where else to go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lightbulb exploded, and they both jumped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the dark, Jon felt for the emergency call button, slid down the wall and put his head in his hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the dark, Jon forgot, and just resented these mishaps and the terrible luck that followed him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His pounding heart, his shaking hands, and Simon Fairchild’s shuddering breaths were something he would not forget.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nor would he forget that Elias’ was the first face Jon saw when the firefighters prized the warped lift doors open with the jaws of life. They helped Simon out first, carrying him down on their shoulders. The lift hadn’t stopped at the floor, but a few feet above it. Strange as it was, it was one factor the firefighters were willing to attribute to their unlikely survival.</span>
  <span>They were unwilling to acknowledge the cascade of topsoil when they’d wrenched the doors open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Elias had looked past Simon and into the darkness of the lift. He saw Jon, waiting there to be rescued, and Elias smiled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once brought back down to solid ground, Simon strode right up to Elias, ignoring the crowd of concerned onlookers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I hope you know what the hell you’re doing, Elias,’ Simon seethed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned on his heel for the door, near running away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it would often be repeated that before slamming the door and never returning, Simon yelled to Elias, the words ringing around the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Better yet, I hope you don’t and it gets you killed!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The whispers rose to a crescendo, and it was only at the sound of a threatening lurch from the lift that the firefighter quickly reached in for Jon, lifting him out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jon only looked at Elias, and Elias raised his eyebrows and shook his head, as if some people were just beyond belief.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Getting to Work</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>BIG tw for intense focus on body image and violence!</p><p>also this is the most obscure stuff I've ever written so pls note you're in for a wild ride</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The firefighters gave Jon a shock blanket. He laughed at that, sounding lightheaded, so they weren’t keen to take it back when he told them he didn’t need it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, really, this is the best near death experience yet! Look, not a mark on me!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held up his arms, the metallic fabric fanning out behind him like a butterfly’s wings, and he laughed again, ragged and brief. His face was bruised and bandaged, like his hand. The scars snaked up his arms and down to his collar, raised and red against his dark skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was encouraged to sit down. He walked down the corridor, feeling their scrutiny at his back, the eyes of the lingering crowd milling about after the massive scene. In reception, he sat down at his desk. He propped the cane up in its place beside him, and refreshed the sleeping monitor, trying to ignore the people watching his every move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crowd of people who’d gathered to watch the rescue had not dispersed, even now that Jon was sitting at his desk and staring at the screen like it was his job.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It still commanded him. But he didn’t want to look. Subjects and employees had gathered outside the lift, and then they drifted out towards the stairwell in reception, ready to go up to the library or research, or down to the archives. No one was going anywhere though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They lingered. All eyes were on Jon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon, shock blanket still draped loosely over his shoulders, firefighters still swapping incredulous looks, realised this was exactly what his office was for. It was a place for someone to press their head to their knees and hold on tight while the world fell away around them. And to do so in private before returning to the front desk, as if finally finding a break in all the hard work being done to tend to other matters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment of Jon’s spectation couldn’t have lasted, though it felt like hours before an audience, waiting to see when he’d crack and admit that falling three stories in a deathtrap of a lift had gotten to him at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Tim crossed the room, file in hand, straight up to Jon’s desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned over Jon’s desk like he was showing him something, broad shoulders screening Jon from the onlookers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Didn’t actually have anything to show you, I was just holding onto this,’ Tim explained. He looked Jon up and down, evaluating his ashen face, the tension in his jaw. He was gritting his teeth. ‘You just look like you might need a five minute break, and this is my idea of asking discreetly.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed quietly, and Jon nodded. ‘In front of everyone. You’re the height of discretion.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Missed my calling with the secret service, me.’ Tim muttered lowly, as though discussing something confidential. ‘Anyway, the archives are quiet, if you want to avoid the social epicentre of the upstairs breakroom.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever Tim had done, it seemed to stir the room back into action, librarians returning to the library, researchers to the research department. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But the subjects?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim shrugged. ‘Can wait. Or you could just send them all up to research.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘At the same time?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim’s smile could be wicked, Jon thought. ‘Why not? Let them earn their money for once, they don’t do anything up there. I’d know!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon sighed, and then tentatively, thought it over. ‘I… could do with a few minutes to collect myself. After I nearly died.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Exactly!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Would you wait five minutes? I’d offer you a seat in my office, but…’ Jon tilted his head to the peeling police tape strung up around his office door. Tim gave him a curious look, somewhere between empathy and interest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, he agreed to wait as Jon called each subject and sent them up to research. He hung back by Jon’s desk, rifling through the inbox like he was looking for something while Jon, for once, let the research department sort out the logistics on their own. He sent the subjects up one by one, and when the room was empty, he got up from his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim put an arm around Jon’s shoulder, protective and warm, and Jon melted. He put his arm around Tim’s waist, leaning on him instead of his cane. Tim pulled him in tight, and walked Jon down to the archives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Document storage is probably best,’ Tim suggested, and Jon nodded, cheek bumping against Tim’s shoulder. Heart still pounding, bringing heat to his face, and Tim’s arm had drifted to the small of his back for leverage as Jon, beginning to shake, needed support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim called out for Martin, and getting no response, pushed open the door to document storage with one hand, arm still wrapped around Jon’s waist. He sat him down on the bed, and Jon leaned against him, breathing slowly, on the cusp of succumbing to panic and determined to pull himself back together in the reprieve offered by this… bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You really sleep here, then.’ Jon laughed, taking in the fairy lights, the book on the cardboard box beside the bed, the mug perched on a shelf filled with the very oldest and most valuable files in the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Me, no! Martin’s been sleeping here since the cops have shown up. Couldn’t exactly come back to my place after a solid day of pretending not to know each other, right?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim was sitting on the bed, his boyfriend’s bed, close enough that his thigh was touching Jon’s. He was still fussing with the shock blanket, wondering aloud about how it worked, but Jon could only focus on Tim’s hands, warm against his chest as he tried to smooth the ripples in the foil. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon blinked, eyelids going heavy as his attention slipped from Tim’s eyes to his lips, making a conscious effort to regain eye contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The adrenaline thrummed through him, Tim’s hands went still, feeling Jon’s racing heart. He pulled back, because he was trying not to dwell on the fear of others, all around him at all times, so close now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim wondered if he were to put his arm around Jon it’d be to comfort him or just get closer to all that terror under Jon’s composure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Anyway,’ he jumped up to his full height, and Jon flinched back, drawing himself inward. Tim’s heart stung, willing himself to just stop hurting people he was doing his best to help. ‘He won’t mind you staying here as long as you need.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you going?’ Jon asked before he could stop himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim backed away before he’d do something stupid like stay. ‘Yeah, I’ll just be in my office though. Let me know if you need anything!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was halfway out the door, eyes fixed ahead and out into the archive proper when Jon spoke, barely more than a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait-’ he asked, and Tim froze, heart thudding in his chest. He’d do anything. Anything but hurt him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned around to look at Jon, lingering at the threshold to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, nearly doubled over himself and holding himself so tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was he in pain? Tim wanted to ask, but he feared the consequences. He wouldn’t make Jon tell him anything, he refused. So he waited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon sighed. ‘N-never mind. It’s okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up and attempted a brave smile, and the pang that went through Tim struck him. He wanted to help. He only wanted to help. He would take Jon at his word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let me know if that changes, you know where to find me!’ He tried, and Jon nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Tim turned around, and closed the door behind him, and rushed away before he looked back at Jon, ashen and shivering and silent, and went back on his decision to leave him alone. To keep him safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon couldn’t bear to be left alone with his thoughts when they kept turning to why Tim had been so anxious to escape him. Every time something unfortunate happened to him, there’d been someone, for better or worse. After the fire in his office, Basira, and then Elias had been there, though that was no comfort. After the infestation? Elias. After his seizures? Elias.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Elias? Georgie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even when he’d wanted to be, he’d never been alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he hovered by the door, deliberating going to Tim’s office and telling him that he’d like to talk, he’d like to tell someone he was afraid-- he was afraid of falling and burning and rotting from the inside out, and spiralling out of control, and losing himself, and losing everyone else too. There was so much to fear in the Magnus Institute, so many random, deadly accidents that made him afraid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Tim wasn’t stupid, and Jon wasn’t trying to hide his feelings. He’d wanted to share them. He’d wanted to ask if he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Tim hadn’t let him reach out knowing that he couldn’t support him. Jon supposed there was a kindness there, and he could return it by leaving quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes after Jon went back upstairs, Tim brought a cup of tea into document storage in the hopes that Jon had calmed down and Tim could be near him without </span>
  <span>wringing every spark of terror from Jon, just like any other subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Document storage was empty, and if Tim had a heart he’d be glad. He drank his tea and felt hollow, instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Upstairs, Jon had already walked in on an argument. He should have known better than leaving his desk for even ten minutes, and flushed with guilt when he saw that it was Martin arguing in his corner. While Jon had been sitting on his bed, with his boyfriend, Martin had been politely trying to explain Jon’s absence for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or so Jon had thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to complain about the Institute, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to complain about the archivist-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s absolutely fine, hang on, Jon,’ Martin called out to him, flashing him a brief, polite smile that told Jon immediately that this subject was trouble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded and walked over as quickly as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What’s the problem?’ He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Mr Williams would like to make a complaint about a member of staff, and I was just trying to-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Fob me off-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin’s voice rose in pitch with his frustration, ‘find the best solution for everyone.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was quite simple, really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They eagerly followed him to his desk, and Jon sat down heavily. They waited in front of his desk while Jon thumbed through his pile of files like a deck of cards, and pulled out the inquiry form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Here’s the form you’re welcome to fill out, and an impartial inquest will be performed.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There and then, the man took it and a ballpoint from Jon’s desk and ticked off ‘other’ for every box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon sighed, deeply unimpressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Mr Williams, you’re going to have to give us some clue as to what to look into.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wiped his face, and started to pace. Jon felt uncomfortable, remembering the last subject who’d come in angry. How he’d left without a trace, except for the third degree burns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You wouldn’t believe me.’ Mr Williams breathed. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then why don’t you tell me?’ Martin offered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> my job.’ he tried again. The man looked unconvinced, but didn’t reject the idea, so Martin went on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You could give me a statement on exactly what the- the problem is with T- our head archivist, and then I can pass that on to, um, the… inquirers?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked to Jon as if asking exactly who would be looking into any issues with the head archivist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That can be arranged,’ Jon assured, instead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Williams shifted his weight from foot to foot, looking at Martin and then at Jon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But… you work with him,’ Mr Williams protested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin shrugged. ‘We’re only colleagues. I promise to be totally impartial.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon knew he was lying about one thing, but he was sure he could trust Martin on the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Williams hesitated. ‘It’s down there, isn’t it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He jerked his head in the direction of the archives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Only because our research department is currently overwhelmed with subjects. If you’d like to come back in an hour or so, or another day, then you could-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Williams sighed, and Jon cut himself off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If you’re worried about Tim being down there, I can send him out for, um, until,’ Martin coughed, trying to find the official sounding words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘For the duration.’ Jon closed, and Mr Williams looked resigned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That. Yeah, that sounds good enough, I suppose.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Great!’ Martin smiled, and looked at Jon meaningfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I- I suppose I’ll call down to the archives, then?’ Jon tried to state, questioning what exactly the right thing to do would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Receiving silence, he picked up the phone, and called Tim. It’d be good for him to remind himself that Tim was a colleague and a fellow investigator, not a confidant, or a friend, or anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s request that Tim visit the library immediately was stilted in his mouth. He hadn’t been planning on saying that. Tim went though, sounding as cheerful as he always did. Jon supposed he was the only one swallowing his feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He caught a sight of Tim on the stairs, just a flash of his bright blue button up, before he rounded the corner up to the library without stopping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Shall we?’ Mr Williams prompted, the resignation in his voice heavy now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Be my guest,’ answered Martin, following Mr Williams’ leaden steps down to the archives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was when Jon felt uneasy. He’d just automatically sided with Martin and Tim and the Institute. That wasn’t necessarily fair, he had no idea what Tim might have done. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mostly because Mr Williams hadn’t said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it would only cross more lines than he already had to ask Martin. And he bet he’d find out anyway. He sighed heavily as he realised Elias would probably have him as whatever passed for a third party investigator. He was the only one in the Institute that didn’t actually work for it. And he always got stuck with the odd jobs anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon looked at the top of the form left on his desk for Mr Williams’ full name, and signed him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried not to dwell upon what Tim could possibly have done because it wasn’t his business, and he expected that it would be a lot less interesting the second it was made his business.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He decided that the persisting question of what exactly Tim had done was just curiosity. Not dread. He didn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By Jon’s reckoning, fifteen minutes passed by the time Tim came back down the stairs, book under his arm. He put it on Jon’s desk, and Jon saw him start to head down to the archives. Where the man complaining to Martin was making a statement on Tim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Wait!’ Jon called out, and Tim stopped and turned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon still had so much he wanted to tell someone, and he still wanted to ask if that person could be Tim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a job to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t go down there yet. There’s-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why had he even lied in the first place? Was it to try and convince Mr Williams that Tim wasn’t going to be involved at all? That sounded right, but did it matter that much? Not to Jon, it didn’t, and Mr Williams wasn’t here now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘There’s a subject making a complaint about you downstairs. Thought he might not like running into you. He was… exceedingly concerned about privacy.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim’s face fell, horrified, and Jon winced in sympathy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So, you don’t actually need </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tactile Hallucinations and Visualising Text: Reading Ghost Stories Through a Supranatural Perspective</span>
  </em>
  <span>?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I… I definitely don’t need it, and I don’t think I asked for it either?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, but it was the best match for “books about hallucinating ghosts”. Pretty good distraction if I do say so myself, I could have been looking for that forever!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon bristled. ‘I honestly thought there’d be more acknowledgement of the possibility that it might not be ghosts in literally all circumstances.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘In the place built to convince people it might be ghosts?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Alright, I panicked.’ Jon admitted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You do that a lot.’ Tim muttered, to his own dismay. He tried to backtrack. ‘You ought to, like, unwind or something!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Unwind?’ Jon’s scepticism was cutting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah!’ Tim’s voice cracked. ‘Any plans for the weekend?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was so much he was holding back from asking that he hadn’t noticed he’d asked anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The issue was that Tim could still feel fear, even if it wasn’t the kind that took the edge of the driving panic welling up the longer he went without it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he could still feel the flicker of nerves as Jon divulged his plans to visit a chiropractor even though it was an ex who recommended them, and in fact paid for the appointment, and he still feels weird taking him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It wouldn’t be some kind of sign, would it? If I went? I just worry because the last thing I want to do is make him think I’m interested?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim was lightheaded. He knew Jon had a story, he knew Jon was just made up of stories and he wanted them all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook himself. ‘I, um, he’ll never know?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim caught himself on Jon’s desk, knees giving out. Jon looked him up and down, and pursed his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That’s an excellent point. You really don’t look well though.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim laughed, his eyes bright, almost feverishly so. ‘Well, you know. I’m really looking forward to that weekend.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just don’t over do it,’ Jon shot back, and Tim felt the concern like electricity in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t just Jon’s. Like a gathering storm, Tim felt the rising terror in the room and looked around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, now this is a fucking farce.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim could see that Mr Williams was shaking. He recognised him. How could he not? He’d seen the man every night since Tim had taken his statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like five conversations at once, all going over his head, and desperately wanting to join one. It was like catching the first promising words of a funny anecdote, and wanting to hear the rest. It was like music, and wanting to sing along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one was speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon coughed. ‘Mr Williams-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No, this is a joke.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Mr Williams, the inquest will be conducted by an impartial third party.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Forget it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stunned for a few seconds, Jon, Martin, and Tim exchanged nervous glances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Jon turned back to his computer and logged Mr Williams out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You know, this wouldn’t have happened if I had my office.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin and Tim slunk down to the archives, and Jon seriously considered cutting the day short.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could play it off to Georgie, tell her that it wasn’t the murder investigation or his near fatal accident but typical customer service that tipped him over the edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alone, he put his head on the desk and tried to breathe. A typical thing hadn’t happened to him all day. All week even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lasted out the rest of the day, got his coat and left without getting the lights. He locked the door behind him. And he dreaded tomorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin and Tim were not planning on leaving at closing time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they got back to the archives, Martin took them straight to document storage. Tim collapsed against him, shuddering. He threw his arms around Martin, and held on tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin stroked his back, and waited for Tim to ground himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Breathe, okay, breathe, we’ll talk when you’re ready.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin laid down, and Tim sank into his chest. Martin scratched his shaved head, and Tim closed his eyes until he stopped shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Lots to talk about. Who’s going first?’ Martin asked, his voice soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We have to talk about that subject.’ Tim answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ Martin sighed. Tim got up onto his elbows to look Martin in the eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It was about the nightmares, wasn’t it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin pressed their foreheads together. ‘They’re not your fault.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words were like morphine. ‘But- But if it wasn’t for me, he’d be okay. So-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Tim, do you want to stop taking statements?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim sank back against Martin. ‘I… I want to want to stop. But I feel like hell when I don’t, and it’s already so hard not just compelling everything out of everyone. The statements, they keep everyone here safer.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin’s arms were strong around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Then don’t bother blaming yourself for the nightmares.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay,’ Tim breathed. ‘Okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But I wasn’t going to tell you to stop.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin felt Tim tense again, and held him tight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I was just going to say… we’re lucky this didn’t happen while Daisy and Basira were here. Could you imagine the questions they’d have had? They… Tim, they can’t find out about us, you know what they’d do.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim groaned, ‘oh God, I know.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They held each other close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And if you wanted to stop taking statements, then I’d support you, but as is… Tim you’ve had statements every day this week and you look… ill. How many do you need?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not quantity, it’s, it’s like I can feel all fear, but only the fear of one of the big fears actually takes the edge off. Williams was the last one that actually helped.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What else helps?’ Martin asked, taking Tim’s hand and holding it tight to his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s awful.’ He said. Martin shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t care.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Going out with Daisy and Basira helps. It works like taking a real statement. It depends on what we do, but… the further we go the more it helps.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I told you it was horrible.’ He buried his face in the crook of Martin’s neck, trying to hide in the comfort he found there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin shook his head again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No… no, it’s just. I had an idea.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He worked his fingernails against Tim’s buzzcut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can’t carry on like this. The cops will figure out something’s up if you can’t find a reliable source of… fear. To keep you going.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hated to say it so plainly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And, if someone else comes in here trying to make a complaint about you haunting them, it’s not like Jon’s going to be able to just call down and send them out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I know.’ Tim’s voice was cracked and wretched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin just wanted to make him better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think we should… look, the subjects you’ve taken real statements from? They’re a risk. They could come here and ruin us, just, whenever! I think… we should… sort that out.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How?’ He asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, how do you, Daisy, and Basira usually do things?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim’s breath caught. He lifted himself up and sat next to Martin, still lying on the bed. He took Tim’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We kill things, mainly. Usually when they get in our way.’ He answered without hesitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin wasn’t quite so favoured by the Eye, but he could still catch Tim if they weren’t paying attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But! They aren’t people, Martin! Those are monsters, and these are just normal people, and, some of them I’ve been watching for weeks now! We can’t, we can’t-!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If it’s you or them then I’m picking you every time.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But I’m!’ He steadied himself, lowered his voice. Took a few deep breaths. ‘I am not safe to be around. And they’re just people. It doesn’t add up, okay? It’s not worth it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It is.’ Martin told him, flatly. ‘It is and I’m not arguing about that. If you don’t want to deal with the subjects, then… then I’ll think of something else.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kissed the back of Tim’s hand and he squeezed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’re making a mistake.’ Tim warned him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I ask how?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes it was so much easier to be asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Please.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How am I making a mistake choosing you over random strangers?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Because I don’t just want to hurt random strangers!’ Tim finally, finally confessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Earlier today, I tried to do the right thing for Jon, and do you know how hard it was not to just take his story and- and enjoy it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin bumped his head against Tim’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Day in, day out, he’s there, and he has this story and I have to try and speak to him without asking him about it and it’s getting worse! As it goes on, it’s getting worse. No matter what I do it’s just-‘</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped. Exhaled, kept his voice level.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If it’s dangerous taking statements from subjects, just think about what it’d be like taking one from a colleague. I’m-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt to say, but he had to say it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m a liability.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So what,’ Martin started, softly. ‘So I chuck you out? Let you loose on London to go… strike up conservations, left, right, and centre? Tell Sasha I let her boyfriend go because I was getting a bit scared he might attract attention? She’d just think I got jealous, Tim.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim snorted. ‘Martin.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t Martin me, we’re… we’re the same kind of monster, really, even if it’s not so bad for me as you. I… I think I get it, really.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And if you’re worried about keeping the whole eye thing under control, then, I don’t know, just let me help you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How?’ Tim asked, fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Maybe just try not to be alone around people. Especially when you know they’ve got a good story. I know you know. We all know. Our lot… I think we can just tell.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim supposed getting to know Jon was off the cards as soon as the need to know had taken root. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. That sounds good.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t. But he wasn’t. It was good enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would keep them safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They got to work hunting down Mr Williams, as he hadn’t left an address. That didn’t pose them much of a problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stole out into the cold night, and returned to the Institute when they were satisfied that Mr Williams would never come back to hurt them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They parted ways at the fire escape. Tomorrow, they’d have to go back to pretending. A kiss, too short, and Tim turned towards his own flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his own bedroom, he stared at the ceiling. His pulse was racing. They’d washed their hands in his kitchen sink, but a trace of Mr Williams’ blood remained. </span>
  <span>Tim held his hands up to his face. In the dark, they looked clean, but Tim knew. Tim knew better than that. </span>
  <span>He’d told Martin that it had worked. A hunger pang shot through him. What more could Tim need, what else as there to take?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought of Mr Williams, winded and bruised and bloody, chest rising and falling. They’d left him like that. How could they leave him like that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How could they leave him alive?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pulse beat in his eye, in his brain, and Tim was so, so hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was blood on his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim put a fingertip to his tongue, trying to get a taste of what he knew he needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bit down, hard, drawing blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was ash in his mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could curl up and sweat the night away, but he had to be better for tomorrow, the officers would know, they’d ask him what was wrong, and they’d find out if they watched closely enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He already told Martin he was better now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shot through with the image of Mr Williams, and his heaving chest, and his bright eyes and terrified relief as Martin and Tim withdrew and closed the door behind him-- it was the hope in his eyes, and Tim snapped his jaw shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would have left it. But Martin had already told him he was worth it, and Tim had already told him he was better, and Tim was putting his shoes on, and going back out to finish what he started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In document storage, Martin sat cross legged surrounded by open folders and statements. He was trying to find a thread he could feed to the police, give them something to follow. His last had been incredible, keeping them busy for a whole day was an achievement he was unlikely to surpass again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubbed his eyes. If he couldn’t find a thread, he’d make one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin would bet that Mr Williams’ home would be worth investigating sooner or later. Within the day, Martin would imagine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It might even look worse if he and Tim weren’t interested in the messy death of a recent subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rewound the cassette tape and replayed the record of Mr Williams’ statement, the one Tim had taken from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr Williams was alive at the same time as Gertrude. Martin thought about a few links he could make, and pulled from the shelves until he found a statement by someone of the same surname. It didn’t take long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He changed the dates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered what kind of narrative Tim, Daisy, and Basira would construct together. One that saw Tim as surprised as them to be investigating the crime scene in Mr Williams’ house, he was sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin would check to make sure that there was plenty for the officers to investigate. And, if Tim hadn’t visited, then Martin would. Now that he had a plan, he’d wouldn’t leave anything up to chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He breathed out, and packed up all the folders and put them back on the shelf. He lay in bed, wishing he was back in Tim’s flat. This empty bed felt so lonely. He’d only noticed how isolated he’d been when he’d started sleeping at Tim’s, and now that was gone, this bedroom felt all the colder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was temporary. He would eventually lead those cops to someone they could arrest, or to something that would take them off their hands, or Sasha would return and solve Gertrude’s case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then they could all go home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were so many more subjects Tim had spoken to, so many people who could burst through the doors making complaints. So little they’d be able to do if someone wanted to complain, there in reception, the cops walking past, hearing everything Tim had done, everything he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If tonight was any indication of how they dealt with threats, Martin refused to let Tim ever seem a threat to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could pull his phone on them, blackmail them into any direction he wanted, but he needed that to be a last resort, a worst case scenario. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needed more control than he had, and he couldn’t sleep. The subjects weighed on him. His heart pounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked into Tim’s office and found all the tapes he recorded, and played them all. He couldn’t tell which ones were real, who were actual threats to whatever security Martin could create. He couldn’t tell who could hurt him and who could not. He just made a list of names.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surrounded by tapes, he tried to tell himself that this list of names was the best place to stop, he could confirm with Tim tomorrow about which statements were real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wasn’t tired. He lay in bed, eyes tracing the lines in the ceiling, drawing a pattern from the arbitrary imperfections in the plaster. He couldn’t stop following every possibility for their destruction to their inevitable conclusions. A single misstep, one overlooked factor, and Martin’s world would unravel around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled the files back out, and he did what he could, and he felt more awake and alive and alert with every passing second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he finally started his day, he took a walk to the courtyard, placed the statement regarding the head archivist appearance in Mr Williams’ dreams into the bin, and lit it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Martin did not take chances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally satisfied that he’d done as much as he could do, Martin went back to the archives and looked at the clock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour until opening time. It was the last day of the week. The Institute only closed on Sunday, but that long day alone in the archive was approaching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The time passed slowly as he wondered and worried, but eventually, the day began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the dot, Martin drifted up the stairs for Jon to sign him in. Jon hadn’t been late to work yet, so he was guaranteed a friendly face before the officers arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing the three of them there, crowding Jon’s desk, was like a slap in the face. Martin damned their punctuality and slipped behind them, unnoticed, towards the fire escape. At least then Jon wouldn’t give him that disparaging look he got when he walked out of the archives first thing in the morning, and straight back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he came back from the cafe around the corner, Jon looked too drained to sustain a conversation, so Martin didn’t bother him for one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The week shuddered to a close in tense paranoia and isolation, imposed upon them all by the cops, the situation, and when Jon finally left, he breathed a sigh of what should be relief. It was resentment. He was bound to return on Monday, and begin the cycle anew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before that, he had Saturday night and a Sunday away from the Institute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned in to the flat he’d started calling home, thinking about when he’d have to find somewhere else, and how come he’d totally rejected his own flat, and whether or not he’d really go to the appointment with the chiropractor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was shattered, and once he sat down on the sofa, he didn’t feel like getting back up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Georgie was recording her podcast, and there was nothing on TV, and Jon’s thoughts nagged at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shot Georgie a text before he went.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jon: Going to the chiropractor- even if it is weird, it’s not like elias will know </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because he’d been trying to get her opinion all week, but she wasn’t particularly invested in yielding it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at the address on the business card, and weighed up calling a taxi against taking his chances with the tube. It was expensive calling all these taxis, but he didn’t know the journey and his limbs were killing him now, at the end of the week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the appointment was already free. He called the taxi.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got in, and in almost no time at all, he got out when the taxi pulled up outside a four bedroomed house in a residential area.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon had imagined a medical facility. It was still early in the night, barely gracing nine o’clock, but suddenly, Jon wanted to explain that this was an appointment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed the words and paid the driver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood outside the door, and checked the address on the business card against the door. Finding that he definitely had the right place, he put the card back in his pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon braced himself, and reminded himself that it was free and he could walk away if he didn’t like it. He didn’t think about how after the week he’d had the last thing he wanted to do was watch awful TV alone with his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he knocked on the door. And prepared himself for whoever Jared Hopworth might be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the sheer height of the man before him that took Jon’s breath away. He’d never seen a person that couldn’t stand up straight in their own doorway without hitting their chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good lord,’ he muttered, unconscious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You what?’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice was low, and Jon wasn’t sure if he could detect aggression or confusion. Apart from being incredibly tall, the man was broad, his arms thick, his body powerful in a way that Jon’s never had been and never would be, something he hadn’t thought about in years. He did not want to upset this man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lowered his gaze, about to explain himself, hitting upon the thought ‘tall?’ before the man stood back a little and straightened up in the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh. I know you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Y-you do?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah. You’re Elias’…’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to duck his head slightly to scrutinise Jon. Jon looked at himself, trying to find what it was the man was looking for. Failing to find it, he clarified the most important detail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ex.’ He assured the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sounded apathetic, but Jon saw his big eyes shift from him to the road behind him. Anxious, Jon looked too. The road was empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You’d better come in.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man led on down a narrow hall, passed the staircase, and into a living room. Jon followed until the man stopped, stooping in the middle of his living room. The space didn’t look built for him. He looked caged in the living room, like there wasn’t enough space for the two of them, and Jon knew he would never have a presence like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a massage table in the middle of the living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jon,’ he introduced himself quickly, offering a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man gave him another sceptical look. ‘Right.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon quashed the urge to defend himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Jared.’ The man took Jon’s hand in his own, small and breakable in his grip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon offered Jared a tentative smile, but his hard-set face was unmoved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You can sit down.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon rushed past the massage table to sit on the cream sofa, clutching his cane just for something to hold onto. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Relax.’ Jared told him, and Jon nodded. It would help. Jon took his coat off, and then he didn’t know where to put it. He folded it up and placed it on the floor in front of the sofa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you drink tea?’ Jared offered to the man before him sitting rigidly on his sofa, looking too tense to blink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes,’ Jon answered warily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right. Make yourself comfortable.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words were so stilted in his mouth, and he shuffled into the kitchen. Jon watched after him, throat going dry as he saw that Jared had to angle his body to fit his shoulders through the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon couldn’t take his eyes off the man. His grey shirt stretched over those shoulders and biceps, but still clung to his waist, such a tight waist. His back muscles flexed under his shirt as Jared went about the kitchen, and Jon sharply turned away, before Jared caught him staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have moved slowly, or clumsily, but instead his every movement was lightning fast and controlled with the precision Jon had never been able to command. Especially not these last few years. He’d been okay with that, just like he’d been okay with his frame, his stature, everything else about him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps Jon had been in academia too long. He’d never seen anyone who looked like that in his life, not outside of telly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon wondered if maybe Jared was famous, or had been, once. He could be, easily. He wouldn’t look out of place on TV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared was approaching with a mug of tea, the cup incongruously small in his hands. Jon reached up to take it from him, found that he could wrap his fingers around it without touching his fingertips, his gaze landing on Jared’s chest as he did. He averted his eyes, directly into his cup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared looked down at him, perplexed. He decided to sit down beside him on the sofa, and Jon flinched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared looked him up and down. Sitting there like that, crossing his legs and arms and slouching over himself, it was hard to see his figure, but Jared was good at seeing the body of a person however they contorted themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So, what’s the problem?’ He asked. Jared could see them all, but not everyone wanted perfection. Nobody else had gone as far as him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon gestured with his cane, and Jared didn’t respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s eyes darted, like he was looking around for an explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I have nerve damage.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared was silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is there anything you can do for that?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were so many things Jared could do for that, but he didn’t know what Jon wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What do you want?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon was taken aback.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Ideally, not to have nerve damage,’ he joked. Jared nodded, sincerely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Alright.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could do that. He had to do that, because if he fucked this up, Elias had promised Jared that he would pay for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the way he’d said it, Jared was prepared to believe it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Anything else?’ Because Jared was thorough. Jon’s face was blank, and Jared didn’t want to miss something important. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you want to be able to… go running-?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘God no,’ Jon said instinctively. Then he changed his mind. ‘Is that… possible?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared shrugged. ‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon whistled through his teeth. ‘If we’re being optimistic, I’d like to be able to run again, some day. At least in theory. It’s not exactly a hobby of mine. If that wasn’t obvious.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared nodded. He knew what kind of mobility and movement that was. He looked Jon over just one last time. He knew what he had to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He offered Jon a hand up to the massage table, realising that even though he hadn’t thought he set it that far off the ground, he had probably miscalculated. Heaving from the exertion, Jon folded his shaking hands, and looked at Jared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’d… like the pain to stop. Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> possible?’ The admission was difficult, for Jon. He hadn’t told anyone how it hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Sure. When you’re ready.’ He gestured towards the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one last anxious look, Jon brought his legs up onto the bench and straightened out, lying on his front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ideal. That way, he wouldn’t catch Jared reading from The Boneturner’s Tale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared walked off to the kitchen and retrieved the book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his dismay, Jon sat up on his elbows. Jared took in the deep curve of his back, the long dark hair spilling over his shoulders. He shook himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just getting my things. Lie back down.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Things?’ Jon questioned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared didn’t know what to say. Jon looked over his shoulder, profile sharp, and saw Jared carrying a heavy book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Are you… a </span>
  <em>
    <span>new</span>
  </em>
  <span> chiropractor?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ Jared agreed, grateful not to have to think of an explanation. ‘Lie back down.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘God.’ Jon hissed, trepidation mounting. But, to Jared’s relief, Jon lowered himself back down, and Jared opened the book, propping it up against an armchair so he could read it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard to judge it right. Read too little, and nothing would happen. Read too much, and the body on the table wouldn’t resemble a human’s. Jared had achieved so much for himself, but he hadn’t successfully taken a therapeutic touch to anyone else before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trailed his fingertips down Jon’s back, listening to Jon’s breath hitch as he dragged the touch from his nape to the small of his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifted his fingers, and Jon held his breath. Jared stepped back, and tried to evaluate Jon’s body, see where the issues lay and fix them. But all he could see was tension, nerve-wracking, distracting tension. Jon was clenching and unclenching his fists, and once Jared had spotted the slight movement, it was all he could see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared needed to focus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned over Jon and seized both his slender wrists and squeezed, just a little. Jon gasped with the shock of the contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No distractions. You don’t want to see my practice attempts.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon began to ask, but Jared tightened his grip on Jon’s wrists just a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Relax.’ He instructed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon went taut, and then, with a strangled sound in the back of his throat, went still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon released a shaky gasp under him. Jared grit his teeth, and willed himself to concentrate. He wouldn’t dare let Elias down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he wouldn’t dream of crossing him. With that thought, Jared released Jon’s wrists, and to his credit, he stayed perfectly still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To buy a little time, Jared started to rub between Jon’s sharp shoulder blades and prepared to read from the book. He thought about Jon’s body, the interrupted and inflamed sites of injury, the severed nerves and he thought about how they fit together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared collected himself, and applied some pressure to either side of the vertebrae, working down Jon’s spine. At the very small of his back, he cast a brief glance at the book. Jon gasped, loudly, and Jared withdrew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You hurt?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ Jon answered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s not meant to hurt.’ Jared assured him. If it hurt, Jared was so dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It doesn’t.’ Jon promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Jared moved on to the right leg. Lots of the injuries were concentrated there. He imitated gestures he vaguely remembered seeing on TV, maybe, acting out what he thought might be what someone could expect from a chiropractor, and stole the briefest fragments of the book to revert the damaged tissue back to a healthy state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Jon shuddered and gasped under him, as the feeling returned and the background noise of pain was silenced and the shock of each change Jared made sent a frisson through his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The process reached its end, and Jared stood back, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. Elias had put a lot of pressure on him to do his best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right,’ he began, and stepped back. Jon turned his head, looking at him with big soft eyes through strands of dark hair. He caught sight of a few greys in the lamp light, Jared’s attempt at setting an atmosphere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is it done?’ Jon asked, voice softer, less scathing, less demanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Should be.’ Jared answered. ‘Stand up?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without thinking about it, Jon pushed himself up to sitting, and jumped down from the bed. He looked to Jared, waiting for his opinion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the realisation hit him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my God.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’ Jared asked, dread building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It! It doesn’t hurt! At all!!’ Jon didn’t know what to do with himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down at himself, standing tall, and he didn’t hurt at all. He put his hand to his face to stifle a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh my God,’ he repeated to himself, ‘Jared, thank you, this is the best thing that’s happened to me in... years, I think!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared still looked sceptical. He hadn’t made someone feel like that ever, he didn’t think. He’d been a problem for other people for as long as he’d lived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look on Jon’s face was something he’d remember, he thought. This feeling was new. The way Jon was looking up at him with all that appreciation and gratitude, the way no one had looked at him before. It brought a smile to Jared’s face. He wondered what that looked like on him. He’d never seen it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>These feelings might have been worth exploring, if Elias’ promise to make Jared’s life unlivable if he crossed him didn’t ring loud and true in Jared’s ear. Because when Elias told him that he could make Jared regret being born, he believed him, and there were very few people on earth he thought could make good on a threat like that to someone like himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he pushed down his conflicting feelings, ignored the call for more and settled on finishing the job for Elias.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Anything else?’ Jared asked. Because, fuck, he wanted to do something for the man. He didn’t just want him to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon shrugged, deeply, enjoying the movement without the sharp rebuke of pain he’d been living around. ‘What else is there?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared had already thought about it when he first looked at Jon carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your nose.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon went still. ‘Oh?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His excitement tempered, and Jared panicked. ‘It’s broken isn’t it?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can fix it.’ He sat down on the sofa, making sure he could still read the Bonerturner’s Tale from across the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’ Jon agreed, already heading back towards the massage table but Jared stopped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Nah, just sit down.’ He patted the seat next to him, and Jon went. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Come here,’ Jared asked, slurring the word into one. Jon leant in, heart thudding, and Jared caught his face in his hand. Jon thought of Tim. Looked Jared in the face to dispel the image. That didn’t work. He could find what was attractive in Tim in Jared’s face, made more obvious, perhaps, exaggerated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared’s eyes darkened as he concentrated. And Jon wanted. Perhaps it was just a reflexive desire born of the attention, the joy of being free of pain making him celebratory, perhaps it was just that Jared was objectively attractive, but Jon wanted. He suppressed the feeling. Because it wasn’t fair, and because Jared could pull him apart if he wasn’t interested in any advancement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared recalled the word from the Boneturner he needed. The bone crunched, and Jon jolted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon was sucking down short breaths through his teeth, reeling from the shock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay?’ Jared asked again, and Jon nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think so,’ he put his hand to his nose. It felt okay. Not bleeding, not hurting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Does it look right?’ Jared asked, anxious now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Well, I don’t know, I can’t see it! Can I borrow a mirror?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit. Jared didn’t know where a mirror might be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He offered Jon his phone, opened to the camera, and Jon shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’ll just go to the bathroom then-’ he began, counting on there being a mirror there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘No.’ Jared only had to touch Jon’s arm, and Jon was knocked back to the sofa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay?’ Jon took the phone, alarmed now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just don’t go upstairs.’ Jared warned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay, okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon regarded his face then, shifting his gaze from Jared’s face to his own. There was no more bruising. His nose was perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Does it… look okay?’ Jared asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Does it look how you want? Do you want it different? Bigger, smaller, anything else?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I like my nose the way it is, thank you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked back at his image. His aquiline nose, precisely centred. He wouldn’t change it. He couldn’t be a hundred percent sure that was how it looked before it broke and Jared reset it, but he liked it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t change it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘We got about fifteen minutes left, is there anything else you want?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s mouth went dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘N-nothing I think you can help me with.’ He admitted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared shrugged. ‘Try me.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s mind raced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Um-’ He rested his head against the back of the sofa, exposing the column of his throat. He caught Jared’s gaze trailing down the deep neckline of his shirt, and went hot. A train of thought derailed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared took his hand. The bandaged one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon hissed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can fix that?’ Jared offered, tentative. His hold was loose, allowing Jon to pull away, if he wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t think you can.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared spared the quickest glance to the book, and it was done. It was already done. Under the bandages, Jon’s hand was perfect. They’d call it a miracle. The thought was dizzying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘But thank you for offering.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Alright.’ Then, tentatively, Jared brought his hand up to Jon’s face. ‘What about this?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rubbed his thumb over the deep scar under Jon’s lower lash line. Jon sighed, looked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Again, not sure there’s anything to be done for that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I could.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared could wipe the scar away like a tear, if Jon wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It’s okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he left it. He didn’t move away. Staring him down, monitoring him for any sign of discomfort, Jared dragged his hand down Jon’s nape to the arc of his neck, settling on his shoulder and feeling the fine bones in Jon’s collar, the way his chest rose and fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Do you want to-’ Jon began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I could make you strong,’ Jared interrupted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon leaned forward. ‘I don’t care about that.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon’s hand hovered in the air, like he wanted to reach out to Jared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can make you-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m happy the way I am.’ And Jon meant it, too. Jared nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon made no move to take Jared’s hand off him, so he left it. Then, shyly, Jon put his hand on Jared’s thigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the time Jared had spent thinking about his body and others’, he’d never thought about what a body could do. He felt the thought had occurred rather too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Your boyfriend.’ Jared reminded Jon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘My ex,’ Jon told him, almost pleading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias told Jared not to fight with him. Told him he could make life unlivable. Jared had seen unlivable. Afflicted so many people with unlivable. Even a taste of what he’d done would be too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can’t.’ Jared told him, regretful, because he wanted to, but not more than he feared whatever Elias could do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon nodded, withdrawing his hand, and Jared took it. He wanted to do something, something more for this man. He’d never been so appreciated in his life. He only knew one way to give back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can make you taller.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon snorted. ‘No you can’t.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Prove it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared smiled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right. How tall are you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Five foot five.’ It was such a shallow insecurity, but a persisting one, and he flushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared shook his head. ‘Five four and a half.'</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon flinched. ‘Oh.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even sitting down, their height difference was obvious. When Jared stood up, Jon had to crane his head to look at him, and Jared thought carefully about how to go about this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘How tall do you want to be?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a number Jon kept revisiting. It was the shortest height listed for an average man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Five nine.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t believe he was entertaining this. Jared clapped his hands together and shifted his weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You sure?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course.’ Jon shot back, quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Right.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He offered his hand, and Jon took it. Jared pulled him to standing, easily, barely flexing his muscles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon cried out with a short flash of pain, before Jared caught him in his arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Okay?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pain was instant and over. Jon nodded. He looked down at himself. The ground was further away than it had been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What…?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t understand. That wasn’t possible. That wasn’t remotely possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Happy?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked back up at Jared, his face closer than it had been, but their height difference still significant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes,’ Jon told him, truthfully. ‘Th-thank you-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘S’alright.’ And before he could pull Jon into an embrace, he stood back. And just in time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A car pulled up outside, engine humming, and Jared knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Looks like time’s up.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon looked out the window, and his face fell. Then darkened. His expression was ugly when he looked back at Jared, and he held his hands up placatingly. He didn’t want to ruin this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘That your ex?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’ Jon’s voice was clipped. ‘What in God’s name-?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared sighed. He felt bad for Jon. If </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jared</span>
  </em>
  <span> was as afraid of Elias as he was, it must be a terrible life for Jon, apparently human, and unaware of the forces at play in his world, if Elias was to be believed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jon didn’t look afraid. He looked angry as hell as he strode to the door, balling his fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared looked on, glad Jon hadn’t wanted to make any major changes to his appearance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon caught him, and cracked a smile through the anger. ‘Really though, thank you.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jared walked him to the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah.’ He felt dazed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Don’t forget this, though. You don’t know when you’ll need it next.’ He passed Jon his cane, and Jon’s blood ran cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took it, and stalked off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, it was Elias’ car. Jon stormed over to him, throwing open the car door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did I ask?’ Jon spat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry, what?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Did I ask you to pick me up?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elias shifted in his seat. ‘Not specifically, but I thought-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Elias, we are not together. Stop thinking about me. Altogether. Okay? Stop telling people we’re still together, stop showing up to drive me around, stop </span>
  <em>
    <span>acting </span>
  </em>
  <span>like my </span>
  <em>
    <span>boyfriend</span>
  </em>
  <span>.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon tutted. ‘Oh, do you?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I haven’t told anyone we’re still together. I arranged things with Jared while we</span>
  <em>
    <span> were</span>
  </em>
  <span> still together, it’s a perfectly ordinary misunderstanding on his part-’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon tossed his head back, indignant. ‘I don’t care. And how the hell did you know I’d even be here tonight? Are you following me?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course not, Jon.’ Elias spoke through his teeth. ‘I was just prepared to look stupid if you weren’t here.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sentiment was actually sweet, which was why it frustrated Jon so badly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Why can’t you just leave me alone?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘If that’s what you want, then of course I will. But Jon, can I ask, how were you planning on getting home?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon burned with frustration. ‘I hadn’t thought about it, but I am a grown adult, and I assure you, it wouldn’t pose the problem you seem to think it would.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Just sit down and calm down.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon seethed. ‘Don’t speak to me like that!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Elias seemed to tire of suffering Jon. He turned his face to Jon, full of contempt.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oh, like </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jon?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question shorted Jon’s breath. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Like a child</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he wanted to say, but that was awful. If Elias didn’t know that it was wrong to speak to him like this, then he couldn’t be persuaded. And if he did, then it was deliberate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question rang, and Jon said nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I’m just trying to be a friend.’ Elias told him, quieter. Jon nodded, throat still thick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I can take you back to your friend’s, if you like.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon sat down, closed the door and looked out of the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Anyway, how did it go? You look better.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘It went better than I expected.’ Jon granted, subdued by what he’d seen in Elias, hollowed out by the bitterness, smothered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Good. I’m glad.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon spent the journey on edge, unsure of how to navigate any conversation or how to manage the silence. As they pulled up outside of Georgie’s flat, Elias turned to him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘So… friends?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Um,’ Jon thought. He thought about delaying it, telling Elias he needed time, or space. He thought about saying no, never, the boundaries crossed were irreconcilable. But what came to his lips was the easiest to say, and the easiest to hear, because he didn’t want to explain another thing to Elias.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yes.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he hurried away, into the flat, into his bed, got under the blanket and under a few pillows for good measure, and slept at long last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the morning, Georgie was amazed. It was a bright and sunny Sunday, and they spent the day doing all the things Jon had been too tired or too hurt to do for so long. She remarked that she had no idea he was so tall once his posture had been straightened out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was how he explained his height to everyone in work, when they asked. It was how he explained to himself, when he didn’t understand either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they unwrapped his bandages, and the doctor found his hand completely and utterly healthy, they could only call it a marvellous success story. Jon simply took the good news as good. He didn’t dwell on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t help it. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what was and wasn’t possible. So he knew that there was nothing he could do about it, and nothing he’d want to do about it either. What did he want, to lose the use of his hand?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still caught himself looking in the mirror, just… just to make sure. Just to make sure that face was quite how he remembered it. He checked more and more often as the memory of how he came to this state faded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his self scrutiny intensified tenfold when the news broke. The Institute was, of course, fascinated, though it was the front page of all the news outlets.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Serial killer stole identity of masseuse, practices on victim’s clients.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The real chiropractor was found dead in his own bed with his wife, their corpses mangled beyond recognition, the violence shocking by anyone’s standard. Described as a car crash without the car, the hunt for the murderer was on. Anyone who knew anything was urged to come forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon recognised the house on the street in the grainy photograph Tim was showing him excitedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he said he hadn’t been there. That it was just a coincidence that he had an appointment with a chiropractor the same weekend as the news broke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because he owed his life to someone who had cruelly and violently taken it from others, and he’d never know why he was spared, treated gently, when someone else was smeared across their own bedroom floor, according to Tim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon told him, rather abruptly, that he had to stop. And he did, changing the subject with a quick apology.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jon barely heard it. Because he couldn’t for the life of him remember if Elias had referred him to Jared Hopworth, the killer, or Gerald Hartley, his victim, and the world was spinning more and more with every word Tim uttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he knew with a sinking sense of doubt that he left the business card Elias gave him in the coat he left at Jared’s. The house that was now a crime scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d never know. He’d never ever know for certain. But he’d never forget that he’d trusted a killer with his body, and he couldn’t stop checking for any outward sign of that inward, retrospective terror, looking for something bloody and mangled that might prove he hadn’t gotten away with his brush with death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, his scars faded and he received second looks and surprised glances and a few shy compliments, and Jon tried to forget what he knew would stay with him. Someone capable of unimaginable violence had treated him carefully, and it was by their grace that he was safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he would never, ever know why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He longed for the day that would stop being true as he bumped into Elias who made friendly, invasive conversation that Jon couldn’t cut off because he was being friends with him, now.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is just an acknowledgement that Jon's disability in this fic hasn't been undone, and he will continue to use his cane in the future!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Busted</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>TW: character death, violence, extreme police brutality, abuse (perhaps moreso than in recent chapters)</p><p>I cannot believe this fic has come to an end!!! it's something I didn't think I'd be able to do, and something I know I'd never have done without the support of sanggguin so, once again, thank you so much for your support, help with editing, and endless patience for letting me send ideas and chapters to you!!</p><p>Furthermore, I know I'd never have been able to carry on with this idea without the comments and kudos I've received! Your thoughts and reactions have made me think, made me smile, and pushed me to carry on writing!! I appreciate every single one!!</p><p>I hope you enjoy this final chapter as much as I've enjoyed thinking about it and writing it!!!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It could be nice, Tim thought, when it was like this. When it was Basira and Daisy poring over statements with him, throwing around ideas like maybe Steven Williams from statement number 41245 was affiliated with the Stranger, or perhaps they could order a pizza, or hit the bar once they were done with the statements for the night.</p><p>He laughed easily at Basira’s wry comments, Daisy clapped him on the back, and Tim observed that he was, in fact, happy. He’d be happier if Martin could come out of document storage and join in, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t happy now. He thought about Martin, straining to hear, listening in case Tim gave them away. Tim could feel that he was afraid.</p><p>And he thought about how that could be nice too, if he let it. </p><p>He didn’t. By the skin of his teeth he held on, and refused to take any pleasure from the act he was putting on.</p><p>‘Still thinking about him?’ Daisy asked, all sympathy.</p><p>They’d caught him staring at the door to document storage. He shook his head, like he was angry, rather than afraid of tipping a careful balance.</p><p>‘It’s okay if you are,’ Basira told him. ‘He gives me the creeps, personally.’</p><p>The blood drained from Tim’s face all at once.</p><p>‘Yeah?’ He asked, so wanting to defend him, but knowing the best way to do so would be to play along.</p><p>She nodded. ‘Yeah. Acting like he couldn’t hurt a fly, all the while creeping around gathering evidence on us… It makes me sick.’ </p><p>‘Absolutely sick.’ Daisy agreed, and Tim nodded, feeling the twist of betrayal in his guts as he did.</p><p>‘It must be hard for you though,’ Basira acknowledged. ‘You thought you knew him, and all the while… plotting. Right under our noses.’</p><p>Tim shrugged, forcing some ease into the movement, making it look easy to hear these things. Like it was easy to say these things. ‘I don’t know, he just worked here. We never really got to know each other, but it was still a real shock. Didn’t know he had it in him.’</p><p>Daisy whistled through her teeth. ‘What are we going to do about it, though? Can’t carry on like this, trying not to step on his toes. Can’t so much as breathe in Sims’ direction without him getting twitchy.’ </p><p>She snorted, lip exposing the sharpness of her teeth. The hair on Tim’s arms stood on end. </p><p>‘I don’t know, it’s only until we solve this case. I guess we’ll just have to try not to piss him off in the meantime.’</p><p> Keeping the strain out of his voice was an effort. It was hard to smile along when all he wanted to do was bare his teeth and tell her to back off. He kept his body language loose, sprawled in his chair as he was, and relaxed as his heart beat raced.</p><p>Basira sighed. ‘You can be such a doormat, Tim, honestly.’</p><p>He shoved her. Affectionately. It could have been affectionate. A different life, a different time, one where Tim wasn’t fighting so hard. </p><p>‘Well, we do need as much help as we can get. The case is hard, and you have to give it to him, he’s been helpful now we’ve put him straight.’</p><p>If they were all friends, good friends, this would all be a laugh. It wasn’t funny. There was nothing funny about this, and Tim’s heart pounded as the officers stayed silent. Martin was listening in, listening as Tim made himself conspicuous.</p><p>‘Look, I can’t stand it either,’ Tim tried to appease them. ‘But we just have to get on with it.’</p><p>Daisy began to refute him, when her phone went off.</p><p>‘Didn’t know you were on call today?’ Basira asked it like a question, not a statement of fact she wanted explained, as Daisy dug around the pockets in her denim jacket for her phone.</p><p>‘I’m not.’</p><p>Off the record, then. Tim leaned in to listen, just like Basira.</p><p>‘Hello?’</p><p>Female, carrying a knife, mid to late twenties, making her way down Graham Avenue, Mitcham, one confirmed victim, potentially more.</p><p>Daisy listened carefully, barely muttering an acknowledgment as she gathered her things. </p><p>Full operational discretion.</p><p>She put the phone down and holstered up.</p><p>Tim reminded himself that Sasha was in America. He’d narrowed it down that far a few weeks ago. She was in America, last he could tell. Female, mid to late twenties, that could be anyone.</p><p>He wanted to go with Daisy. To check. To watch. To see how Daisy would dispatch the threat, revel in all the gory implications hiding behind the word discretion.</p><p>It’d been weeks now since he last went out. He hoped it’d be longer before he started feeling hunger pangs.</p><p>Especially since he couldn’t go with Daisy. Section 31 was unorthodox, but even they didn’t let hobbyists like Tim tag along with their officers.</p><p>‘Suited and booted,’ Daisy stood by the door, ready to go.</p><p>‘Good luck out there,’ Tim wished her, sincerely. He knew that she was scared, it just didn’t feel good to go out there on her own, not when she was used to having Basira and Tim by her side. But her pulse beat hard and she was ready to go.</p><p>But then the door to document storage creaked open. </p><p>‘Off out?’ Martin asked, leaning in the doorway, thumb hovering on the button of the phone, as always whenever he interacted with the officers. </p><p>‘Listening in?’ Daisy asked, sarcastic.</p><p>‘The walls are paper thin, I’ve already told you I can’t help hearing-’</p><p>‘What do you want, Martin?’ Basira cut in.</p><p>‘Just! Just that- okay, if it’s just Daisy going out, and you’re taking a- a gun,’ he said the word with disbelief. ‘Then just ask whoever it is some questions before you… do whatever you do.’</p><p>Daisy crossed her arms.</p><p>‘What kind of questions?’</p><p>‘Oh, I don’t know, just get some basic information. Like maybe ask them why? They’re killing people? Or who they’ve killed? Maybe. Or, here’s one, try and find out who they are? If the station’s calling <em> you </em>, then there’s something up with them, and maybe me and Tim can follow up with the statements. Just, I don’t know, you’re a detective!’</p><p>Daisy stared hard. ‘Fine. I’ll ask some questions.’</p><p>‘You don’t have to solve every mystery this side of London,’ Tim warned. Just a touch of hostility, whatever it took to ingratiate himself.</p><p>Martin rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, yes, because supernatural killers are all over the place, how could I forget? Bet this one is <em> nothing </em> to do with the supernatural killer we’re <em> trying </em> to investigate! How silly of me!’</p><p>Daisy’s glare was steady, and trained on Martin. She didn’t shift her eyes to address Tim when she told him.</p><p>‘I’m not sure how much longer I can take this.’</p><p>‘Right!’ </p><p>Tim wished he couldn’t feel Martin’s terror just spike like that. He wished he couldn’t remember exactly how he’d pushed him into the corner of the archives, grabbed his jaw and squeezed, how his fingernails had pressed in at soft skin.</p><p>He’d stopped, with Martin. He hadn’t stopped with Mr Williams. He’d put his hand over his mouth and nose, and felt his dying flailing grow weak.</p><p>And he’d do it again before he took another chance like that with Martin.</p><p>Martin slammed the door shut, and if they pretended he couldn’t hear every word, they could pretend he’d gone away, and Tim could pretend he was safe now.</p><p>‘I hate to say it, but he’s right, you know?’ Basira told him.</p><p>Daisy tutted, giving Basira a softer look. ‘Not you as well?’</p><p>She shrugged. ‘It’s a good opportunity. Shame to totally waste it.’</p><p>Daisy huffed, but there was no force behind it. ‘Fine. I’ll be back with some answers. Don’t wait up for me.’</p><p>They wished her good luck just one more time, and then she was out the door. Tim ached to join her. Instead, he dug his nails into the wooden tabletop, leaving marks on his desk as he slogged through yet more conversation with Basira.</p><p>He could enjoy himself, if he let himself go. But all he could think about was Sasha, and Martin in the other room worrying, and the dead body of Mr Williams he’d pretended to discover earlier that day, and the way Mr Williams had thrashed as Tim smothered him to death, and how he would have to do it again soon if he was going to keep the cops from looking too closely at him and put Martin in danger.</p><p>So Tim distracted himself from what he wanted by remembering what was at stake, and left for his flat when Basira called it a night.</p><p>He stood outside his flat, feeling the coldness of the night on his cheeks. He looked up at the stars as his fingertip hovered on the keypad to let him in. Somewhere under those stars lay all the people he was trying to keep safe.</p><p>And somewhere else, Daisy Tonner was in hot pursuit of the armed suspect. </p><p>She got out of the police car, and parked on the street. The suspect was meant to be a few streets down, and Daisy wanted the element of surprise, and trusted herself to be able to stealthily catch up on foot. </p><p>Her footfall was silent, and she kept a keen ear out for any sound. Traffic muted most sounds, but she listened out anyway. And that’s how she heard the quiet, pained whine. </p><p>Daisy’s head whipped round to her left, just a little ahead of her. She might have mistaken the slumped figure for a rough sleeper, but looking more carefully, she could see they were doubled over in pain, pressing their hands to their stomach. As she approached, she saw the blood staining the front of the victim’s white shirt, a briefcase, spilled open, papers strewn down the street.</p><p>Daisy crouched before the victim.</p><p>‘Oh thank God,’ the victim whimpered, dying breaths weak. ‘Get help.’</p><p>Daisy ignored that, and instead patted down the victim’s coat pockets. Finding a wallet, she silently sorted through for some form of identification.</p><p>‘What… help me?’ The victim asked. ‘Please?’</p><p>With some satisfaction, Daisy pulled out a driver’s licence and replaced the wallet in the victim’s coat. That would answer one of Martin’s stupid questions, Daisy thought, as she pocketed the victim’s ID. She hoped that finding out who the victim was would have some kind of pay off. </p><p>‘Help!’ The victim groaned, as Daisy stood up. After one last look, making sure she hadn’t missed anything, Daisy took off in a run. She’d spent too long on this diversion as it was. </p><p>Even as Daisy’s boots hit the pavement she was practically silent, sprinting down a few streets until she caught sight of a figure, staggering down the road.</p><p>Victim or killer? Daisy halted, melting into the shadows. She still couldn’t tell. She crept closer and closer. She was six houses away from the figure. Five. Four.</p><p>Then she caught sight of the knife in the figure’s hand, shining in the orange streetlamp. The killer twirled around, movements exaggerated and theatrical. She hadn’t spotted Daisy, still as stone in the shadow. The killer sauntered on, totally distracted. It was laughable, and Daisy prepared to strike.</p><p>She caught herself at the last second. However aimless this killer’s movements appeared, she was moving in a single direction, potentially to a destination, somewhere Daisy could get to work. Somewhere she might find some intel. She had promised Basira, after all.</p><p>So Daisy did not lunge out of the shadows, but instead, quietly followed the killer, observing what she could. Every so often, under a streetlamp’s glare, the killer would turn the knife in her hand. Daisy caught the white chord of a pair of earphones, perhaps receiving orders, and hung back to reevaluate.</p><p>Then she noticed the killer was walking rhythmically. In time to a beat.</p><p>But for the knife in her hand, the killer could be an ordinary woman strolling home. The thought was profoundly unnerving, and Daisy steeled herself. Still so cautious, Daisy stalked the killer to a residential area.</p><p>A competent killer would have put the knife away. This killer was reckless, still brandishing it as she walked up to the block of flats. That made her unpredictable, and Daisy was on edge.</p><p>The killer patted her back pocket, and brought out a key. Daisy drew close, then closer. Seeing that there were no reflective surfaces in front of the killer, Daisy broke cover. She was a meter away from the killer.</p><p>Half a meter.</p><p>Right behind her. </p><p>The killer opened the door and stepped into the stairwell. Daisy stepped in too, just a hair’s breadth behind her target. The heavy metal door slammed behind them, and the killer headed up the stairs.</p><p>The stairwell was dark, the automatic lights kept blinking out, or perhaps the bulb needed changing. Daisy followed the killer up the concrete steps, staying silent. The stairs would be the worst place for a confrontation, and the killer hadn’t put her knife away yet. Heart in her mouth, Daisy crept up floor after floor, barely daring to breathe.</p><p>Four floors up, the killer turned off the stairs and onto the landing. Just behind her, Daisy did too, shadowing her every move.</p><p>She followed her down a hallway, heart pounding, fists clenched, moving silently and quickly and inevitably towards the killer. The killer’s knife was still out, where any neighbour could see. Reckless, foolish. </p><p>Adrenaline flooded Daisy’s veins, electrifying every step towards this criminal.</p><p>The killer finally stopped in front of a wooden door, one with a gold number plate on the front. She took a second key from the keyring, nearly nicking herself with her own knife-- kitchen, domestic-- before putting the key in the door and turning it.</p><p>Daisy heard each click, every nerve in her body alive as her muscles wound up. She would strike, once, and it would be enough.</p><p>The killer opened the door, and stepped into her home. Daisy stepped in too, door closing behind them.</p><p>In the second before the other woman in the flat looked up, the killer threw the knife down like it was a briefcase or jacket. She sighed.</p><p>‘Hey-’</p><p>‘Melanie, behind you!’</p><p>The other woman in the flat screamed, and pointed at Daisy. </p><p>Daisy did not wait for the killer to turn to look. She struck, hard, slamming the killer’s head into the wall. The air was knocked out of her with a grunt, but the stubborn criminal was still on her feet, and surged towards Daisy, face contorted with rage.</p><p>But Daisy had a height advantage, and Daisy had been waiting for this, tension snapping as she leapt forward, winding her assailant with a hard hit to the stomach, and throwing her bodily over the coffee table. It collapsed beneath her, and Daisy pounced before the killer could react. In a flash, she was on top of her, and she roughly grabbed a handful of the killer’s hair and dashed her skull back into the laminate floor, over and over, until she finally went limp.</p><p>Satisfied that she was safe, she stepped back from the unconscious body ready to pounce if the killer so much as twitched.</p><p>Only the deep, ragged breaths of the other woman, in shock, punctured the silence.</p><p>Reluctant to take her eyes off the killer, but realising that the threat was neutralised, Daisy looked up at the woman.</p><p>And then she froze, just for a heartbeat.</p><p>‘Sasha.’ Daisy couldn’t believe it. Nearly a year in hiding, and here she was, choking off her sobs and cowering in an armchair, not even half an hour away from the Magnus Institute.</p><p>‘Detective?’ There were tears in her eyes.</p><p>‘Shut up. Who was that?’ Daisy demanded, pointing at the killer, her body face down on the carpet.</p><p>‘The- that- that’s Melanie. Why are you <em> here?</em>’ She asked, desperate to stall.</p><p>‘To find her.’ Daisy answered without thinking. ‘Why’s she killing people?’</p><p>The noise Sasha made was helpless, and she gestured with her hands, as if trying to pluck an explanation out of the air. ‘I- I can’t explai- she just needs to.’</p><p>Good enough for Daisy. ‘Right. Help me get her in the car. Don’t try to run.’</p><p>‘<em>Why are you doing this?</em>’ Sasha pushed back, getting to her feet. The question hit Daisy like a train, and she stumbled back, answering before she could think of not to.</p><p>‘Because you’re a target. You made yourself a target, when you ran. I can’t help it, I needed to find you ever since then. I don’t know what you’ve done, and I don’t care, I’m ending this tonight. Case closed.’</p><p>Daisy snapped her jaw shut, closing around any more words that threatened to spill over. Then, eyes locked on Sasha, Daisy drew her gun from her holster. She pulled the hammer back, a round falling into place with a click, and she pointed the gun right at Sasha. She froze.</p><p>‘What the hell did you just do to me?’ Daisy’s voice was steady and quiet, blistering with rage barely restrained. Like her gun, her control was on a hair trigger.</p><p>Sasha did not know what to say. She spluttered, and Daisy shot forward, putting the barrel of the gun to Sasha's head.</p><p>‘What. Did you. Just do to me?’</p><p>‘I compelled you.’ Sasha answered. Daisy’s glare was unrelenting. ‘I can make you answer my questions.’</p><p>‘Don’t you ever do that to me again.’ And Sasha nodded, so eagerly, feeling the gun metal cold and hard against her forehead. She looked over Daisy’s shoulder, at Melanie. Daisy looked behind her, just in case, and Sasha squirmed away from the gun. When Daisy looked back at Sasha, Daisy’s smile was triumphant and cruel.</p><p>‘You think she’s going to save you?’</p><p>She pushed the gun back to Sasha’s head, and Sasha squeezed her eyes shut.</p><p>‘No! I- please don’t shoot me.’</p><p>God, the words were music to Daisy’s ears. She didn’t want to shoot Sasha either, she wanted to let her go. Then she wanted to find her, again, and again, until Sasha could not run any longer, and then it’d all be over too soon. </p><p>Daisy kept her head together though. She did not want to shoot Sasha. Not here, the blood would spray and even if Martin was already blackmailing her, she didn’t need to leave any more evidence behind and risk the station turning against her anyway. She didn’t need to do her blackmailer’s job for him.</p><p>‘You want to live? Then do as I say, stop asking questions, and help me get her in the car.’</p><p>Daisy hoisted Melanie’s body up from the floor. They each slung one of Melanie’s arms over their shoulder, and between the two of them, Sasha and Daisy carried Melanie out of the flat. Sasha didn’t bother about asking Daisy to let her lock the door behind them. She knew she wasn’t coming back.</p><p>Melanie’s feet dragged on the pavement. Her deadweight was heavy, and Sasha was struggling, but determined to keep up, too frightened to ask to slow down. Her breath came heavy, and Daisy paid no attention. </p><p>The car was parked streets away. There was not another soul on the street, not one person Sasha could call to for help, and yet Daisy spurred Sasha on, as she felt too exposed walking through the neighbourhood, any of the windows potentially hiding witnesses or watchers.</p><p>‘Come on.’ She ordered, and Sasha walked on, arm going numb as she held Melanie up, hoping like hell Melanie would wake up.</p><p>She was still hoping when they reached the car. It was a police car like any other. With one hand, Daisy opened the back door, and with the other, she maneuvered Melanie into the back, sprawled over the backseats.</p><p>‘Get in.’ She told Sasha. Sasha opened the front door, and Daisy hissed through her teeth, ‘get in the back, I’m not stupid.’ </p><p>She’d never make herself vulnerable to an attack that easily anticipated. Sasha scrambled to get in the back, gently repositioning Melanie, putting her head in her lap. </p><p>Daisy got in the driver’s seat. ‘Not that you’d stand a cat’s chance in hell against me.’</p><p>She started the engine, and they began the long drive off to that distant location she knew so well.</p><p>Daisy thought about what to do with Sasha. She wished Basira was here, she’d know how to best use this opportunity to their advantage.</p><p>The drive ahead was long, and Sasha was silent, terrified. With her eyes fixed on Daisy, she inched her phone out of her back pocket and unlocked it. She held her breath, waiting for any indication Daisy had noticed.</p><p>Then she texted Tim. And sent him her location. And disabled every privacy measure she’d taken in hiding. </p><p>And then all she could do was trust him.</p><p>Ten minutes into the drive, Daisy called Basira. They always had worked better as a team.</p><p>‘Daisy?’ Basira’s voice was cracked with sleep. It was the early hours of the morning, after all.</p><p>‘Basira. I’ve got Sasha-’</p><p>‘Wow, okay. Alive?’</p><p>‘Yes, alive.’ Daisy sounded affronted. ‘For now, anyway.’ </p><p>Basira snorted.</p><p>‘Right. Okay, how about I meet you there, and then we can work out how to use her for leverage. And we’ll get some answers out of her, too.’</p><p>Daisy smiled into her headset. ‘Good idea. So I’m heading down to-’</p><p>‘I know where you’re going. You’re not that subtle.’</p><p>Daisy laughed again. ‘Didn’t know I was that predictable, though.’</p><p>Daisy wasn’t predictable. It was just that Basira knew her.</p><p>‘See you there, Daisy.’</p><p>In the back seat, Sasha put her head in her hands, curling around Melanie. How many times could she beg her to wake up? She could feel her breathing, softly, so all she could do was hope she’d be okay.</p><p>She fell asleep to the thought, worn out by the adrenaline. There was nothing else she could do.</p><p>She started awake when Daisy threw the car door open. </p><p>‘Get out.’ </p><p>Sasha fell out knees weak and legs numb from the ride. Daisy picked her up by the front of her shirt, and crashed her back against the car.</p><p>‘You human?’</p><p>It wasn’t the first time Sasha had to think about that.</p><p>‘I’m… not so sure about that. Yes?’</p><p>Daisy took that as a no. She seized Sasha, and walked her over to the hood of her car, slammed her down against it.</p><p>‘“Compelling”. That the only thing you can do?’</p><p>‘Yes!’ Sasha cried. </p><p>It was true. It was the only thing she could do. Her other habits that set her apart from humans weren’t so much abilities as massive liabilities.</p><p>‘How does it work?’ Daisy’s voice was a growl against her, and Sasha turned her head, met Daisy’s gaze from the corner of her eye, and took a deep breath. Then she took a risk.</p><p>‘Questions, usually. They’re the easiest, but I can work with instructions. As long as I can speak, I can make someone tell me the truth. Detective, can I tell you why I’m telling you this?’</p><p>Daisy gnashed her teeth. ‘Tell me right now.’</p><p>‘Because I think I know who killed Gertrude. I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I know I can find out. But I can’t compel anyone if you shoot me dead. Or if you put me in a coma.’</p><p>‘So what?’ Daisy spat. ‘I let you go? Not happening. Not now I know what you are.’</p><p>‘What <em> I </em> am?’ Sasha scoffed. ‘That’s funny.’</p><p>Daisy’s knuckles were white against Sasha’s wrists, pinned to the small of her back.</p><p>‘What do you mean-’</p><p>‘Daisy, just let me solve this case, I know, <em> I know </em> who did it, all I need is proof. And I can make him confess, I just have to ask him. You can come with me, arrest the bastard there and then, or kill him, or whatever, but just please. Let me ask.’</p><p>Daisy’s head span. She didn’t want to make a decision like that without Basira. She released Sasha, just for a second to think, when she heard a low groan from the back seat. Melanie was stirring. And Daisy was so, so glad. She could handle that. </p><p>She reached into the back of the car, and dragged Melanie out by the scruff of her neck. Before she came round any further, Daisy had the woman in a headlock and her gun to the woman’s temple.</p><p>Sasha reached out, shouted, but it was too late. Daisy pulled the trigger. Gunfire lit the clearing, and Melanie lost her life.</p><p>The echoes died, and the forest was pitch black once more, and Sasha began to cry into the darkness.</p><p>‘She wasn’t human. You told me she needs to kill to survive, so that makes her a monster. It’s what I do to monsters. So grab a shovel, and start digging, while I think about what you just said.’</p><p>Daisy got back in the car, leaving Sasha to sob. And secretly, Daisy hoped that Sasha made a mad dash into the woods surrounding them. She wouldn’t make it twenty paces before Daisy caught her. So she sat quite comfortably in the car, watching Sasha clutch the body to her chest, and picked up the phone when it rang.</p><p>‘Basira?’ </p><p>‘Daisy! Daisy have you killed Sasha yet?’ Basira, unflappable, didn’t sound scared, but Daisy knew she was.</p><p>‘No, why?’</p><p>‘Don’t! Don’t kill her. I’m five minutes away, but I’ve been followed.’</p><p>‘Who?’ She asked, voice like thunder.</p><p>‘Martin and Tim. I don’t know what they’re doing here yet, but keep Sasha with you, and don’t harm a hair on her head.’</p><p>‘Got it.’</p><p>‘And Daisy, before they get here, ask her how they knew where to find her. But only ask. <em> Don’t </em> hurt her.’</p><p>Daisy looked out of the windscreen at Sasha, bent double over her friend’s dead body.</p><p>‘Course not.’</p><p>She hung up, and got the handcuffs off her belt. Stalked up to Sasha, before she grabbed at both her wrists, easily holding them both in one hand as Sasha twisted in her grip. She screamed, and Daisy laughed.</p><p>‘This is the middle of nowhere, scream all you like.’</p><p>Sasha screamed and screamed as Daisy wrestled her into handcuffs, Melanie’s body sliding out of Sasha’s lap and onto the floor as Sasha struggled.</p><p>‘Shut up. I have questions for you.’</p><p>The instinct to slap her hard was nearly impossible to resist. She could only resist it for Basira.</p><p>Instead, she slowly and deliberately placed the gun against the back of Sasha’s head.</p><p>‘Sasha, why are Tim and Martin following Basira right now?’</p><p>‘Because they’re coming to save me, so don’t you dare shoot me now.’</p><p>That made Daisy’s blood run cold. ‘And how do they know where to find you?’</p><p>‘Because I told them! I’m completely trackable right now, and I told them to come and find me. They’ll find me, if you kill me, they’ll find me and they’ll ruin your life, I promise you that. So don’t you dare.’</p><p>Daisy paced in a circle around Sasha, the light of the moon through the clouds catching on her gun.</p><p>‘How do you know about Martin’s blackmail?’</p><p>Sasha bit her lip. She hadn’t meant to let that slip, just threaten Daisy a little. Give her a reason not to hurt her. She scrambled for an answer. </p><p>She took too long. </p><p>Daisy broke from circling Sasha, lunged at her suddenly. She flinched, but on her knees, hands cuffed behind her back, she couldn’t get away. Daisy took a fistful of Sasha’s hair, nails sharp and digging hard into Sasha’s scalp, just like Melanie, and Sasha was petrified-</p><p>‘Answer me.’ She jerked Sasha’s head to eye level, she could see tears beading in Sasha’s eyes.</p><p>Daisy gave her three seconds to pull herself together. Then she drew her knife. She felt Sasha try to shift back, but Daisy was stronger, so much stronger, yanked down hard on Sasha’s hair, forcing her head back and exposing Sasha’s throat to the very fine point of the knife.</p><p>‘Tim’s told me all about it!’ Sasha finally admitted. ‘He’s never left me out, we’re a team. They’re coming for me.’</p><p>Daisy didn’t move the knife, careful not to even so much as prick Sasha. Or give her an inch of leeway.</p><p>‘Then why’ve you been hiding from them, for all this time?’</p><p>‘Because they’ve been distracting you two to give me time to solve the case, and I’m nearly there! This is exactly what they didn’t want to risk.’</p><p>‘Been gone a long time, Sasha. Things change. Are you sure they’re here to <em> save </em> you?’</p><p>Because Daisy knew doubt when she saw it, and she knew it when she felt it. Sasha let out a shaky breath. </p><p>‘We’ll find out, won’t we.’ </p><p>Basira arrived first, headlights pouring light onto the clearing. Daisy relinquished Sasha and stood beside her. Sasha, in handcuffs, knelt on the grassy floor at Daisy’s feet, next to the dead body of a young woman.</p><p>The sight made Basira’s stomach flip. But she trusted Daisy, if that young woman was dead, it was because she’d been a threat. It was because she hadn’t really been a young woman. Only looked like one.</p><p>‘Our suspect reckons Tim and Martin are here to save her. She tipped them off, and after tracking her for a bit, I reckon they found your car and followed it.’ Daisy jerked her thumb over to Sasha.</p><p>‘And she’s not just a suspect, but she’s a monster now too. And she reckons she can solve the case and make an arrest tonight.’</p><p>Basira arched an eyebrow, looking down on the woman before them. ‘Oh, really?’</p><p>‘What do you think?’ Daisy asked, sounding sceptical.</p><p>‘Well, what kind of monster are you? We’ve dealt with a few now, so who are you with? The Stranger? The Corruption? The Desolation?’</p><p>Sasha shook her head. ‘The Eye.’</p><p>‘She can compel people, make them tell the truth. She did it to me, and Basira, let me tell you, it feels like pulling teeth. Told her if she does that again, blackmail or not, it’s all over, you hear me?’</p><p>Sasha nodded furiously, and Basira was struck with a burning question. She crouched in front of Sasha, eye to eye.</p><p>‘What will Martin and Tim think when they find out you’re a monster? You know they kill monsters. You did know that, right? You’re friend here isn’t the first person we’ve taken back here, you have to know that. Or is that news to you?’</p><p>Basira didn’t expect Sasha to laugh at that, though.</p><p>‘Why would they care if I serve the Eye?’</p><p>Because she’d been so very reliant on her Entity, compelling answers from anyone who might know anything about Gertrude, keeping Melanie close to deal with the fallout, that she had no idea how Tim or Martin might have kept their patron a secret.</p><p>A second car pulled up next to Basira’s, and Martin got out first, brandishing the phone as he strode towards them.</p><p>‘What do you mean?’ Daisy demanded, as Martin and Tim approached.</p><p>‘Why wouldn’t they care,’ she went on, ‘we’ve been killing monsters like you for months now, they’ll hate you now. They <em> ought </em> to hate you now. What do you mean?’</p><p>Tim was running towards them now, calling Basira and Daisy’s name. And Tim was close enough to hear when Sasha spelled it out, the secret he’d been keeping.</p><p>‘He won’t hate me. We’re the same kind of monster, after all.’</p><p>They turned to him, horror dawning on their faces as they began to understand. Every single suspect answered questions for Tim, even when the monsters were set on silence. Even when the monsters withstood violence and death threats, they’d still give up their secrets to Tim. Everyone always answered Tim.</p><p>Even in the headlamp glow, Tim looked ashen. He looked to Martin, and then back at Daisy and Basira.</p><p>‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ But Daisy didn’t need to ask. For the first time since they’d met, Tim didn’t have anything to say. Daisy, gun in hand, didn’t move from Sasha’s kneeling side.</p><p>Basira stalked forward to Tim. He didn’t move. They couldn’t do anything, not now that Martin was here.</p><p>‘How long have you been… Eye?’ Basira asked.</p><p>Tim couldn’t speak. His throat worked, but there was a dead body, his girlfriend, and the crumbling facade, and he was beginning to realise he might not be able to salvage anything, anything at all.</p><p>‘The whole time?’ </p><p>‘No-’</p><p>Basira surged forward, and Tim flinched back.</p><p>‘Hey!’ Martin warned.</p><p>‘Oh shut up, you can send your blackmail once.’ Daisy reminded him.</p><p>Basira rounded on Tim.</p><p>‘Just tell me the truth you- you lying-’ she took a deep breath. ‘When did you become a monster?’</p><p>It had slipped through his fingers in an instant. All that lying, all that work, dashed to pieces.</p><p>‘I noticed six months before Prentiss attacked. That’s when we all started to change.’</p><p>Daisy and Basira shared a glance. </p><p>‘Fuck.’</p><p>‘So all this time? Then why hunt monsters with us? When you knew all along-’</p><p>‘Because I still hate the Stranger! They still killed my brother! I still lost everything because of what they did to me, I didn’t- I didn’t make that up!’ Tim fired back, voice strangled. </p><p>‘I’m still me, I just- I knew how you’d react, but I’ve helped you, I’ve used this power for good, I’m- I’m not a monster, and neither’s Sasha, she’s been helping us with the case, we’re all actually on the same side, but-’</p><p>Daisy scoffed, stepping away from Sasha and towards Tim, taking her place next to Basira.</p><p>‘Come on, we’ve done some good together, us three? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth about- about the Eye, but I haven’t lied to you any more than that-’</p><p>‘You were in on Martin’s plan.’ Daisy told him. Tim screwed his face up.</p><p>‘How-’</p><p>‘Sasha told us.’</p><p>It was like the ground gave out beneath him. He looked between the officers, at Sasha, tears streaking her face, arms wrapped tight around herself. Tim’s throat tightened painfully.</p><p>‘And you were always, always just distracting us. You were never investigating with us. You were never one of us.’</p><p>Tim’s back hit a tree trunk. There was nowhere else to go. He whined.</p><p>‘I-’ His voice was hoarse. ‘But you still can’t kill me.’</p><p>‘If we could,’ Daisy bared her teeth in a cruel smile. ‘We already would. But because your friend has the rest of our lives in the balance, and your girlfriend might actually solve our case, we’re gonna play along and then we’re going to go. But listen, Tim?’</p><p>He nodded, desperate. Behind them, Sasha and Martin looked on, eyes bright- reflecting the headlights and glowing in the dark. </p><p>Daisy jabbed at Tim’s chest with her index finger, punctuating her words.</p><p>‘You’re nothing to us, now, and one of these days, however many years it takes, you’re going to pay for what you did.’</p><p>With that, Daisy turned away, towards Sasha and Martin, Basira in tow. Leaving Tim to sink down and wonder how far Martin would have let them go before he finally used that blackmail.</p><p>‘Sasha, who are we going after?’ Daisy asked.</p><p>‘Not telling. Not going to risk it.’ She wiped her cheeks of stray tears and squared her shoulders. ‘You can follow me to the murderer, I know where he’ll be.’</p><p>Basira held Daisy back with the lightest touch to her arm.</p><p>‘Okay, you can ride with me, and Martin if you like, for insurance. You can give us directions. Daisy, might be best if you follow us, and Tim there’s a car left, make your own way back.’</p><p>It was as good as it was going to get. She looked to Martin, who nodded, shaky, and to Tim, but he wouldn’t meet her eye.</p><p>‘Okay.’</p><p>‘Not so fast.’ Daisy had slipped away to her own car, and returned with a shovel in each hand. ‘We still have to take care of Sasha’s friend. We’d hate for Martin to lose his advantage over us just because we did a shit job cleaning up.’</p><p>She picked a spot and started digging. ‘Come on, or this’ll never get done.’</p><p>In the end, Martin picked up the shovel. He always was willing to do the work that needed to be done.</p><p>‘You really do want to keep your blackmail, huh?’ Daisy scathed.</p><p>‘You need some reason not to kill us all.’ He retorted. Basira looked thoughtfully at the scene. Having someone with good reason to help them clear up might be useful.</p><p>For now, she turned her attention back to Daisy.</p><p>‘So that was the killer, then?’ She nodded over to the corpse.</p><p>‘Yeah. Oh, Martin, I have your answers, by the way. The killer’s name's Melanie, she killed, um-’</p><p>She pulled the stolen ID out of her coat pocket, ‘She killed Laura Dewitt, and she killed because she needed to. Any good?’</p><p>‘Oh! Um, maybe when we’re back in the archive that could be useful?’</p><p>He took another deep shovel.</p><p>‘Sasha? Is that the long and short of it?’ Martin asked, desperately trying not to sound as far out of his depth as he was.</p><p>‘Essentially. Um, she killed a lot more people than that. But basically, yeah.’</p><p>‘Okay, and why was she killing people?’</p><p>‘Because she needed to,’ Daisy interrupted, not liking to see monsters collaborating.</p><p>‘Okay.’ Martin was quick to agree with Daisy, mentally deciding to revisit if they ever got the chance.</p><p>They worked quietly, Basira, Sasha, and Tim drawing in around the grave for Melanie as it took shape, the petrichor scent of cut turned earth still soothing, the dew on the grass still forming, the sun still beginning to rise and the world still turning even as their lives changed forever.</p><p>‘That’ll do.’ Daisy declared, leaning back on her shovel. The grave was deep, and there was no time for words or apologies. As carefully as she could, but still without ceremony, Sasha lowered her friend into the dirt.</p><p>And Tim looked on. He swallowed, the lump in his throat sharp. Would it be weeks? Months or years? Tim knew a glimpse of the end when he saw it, and it was an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere, no grief, just loss.</p><p>Filling the grave was easier than digging it, and the sunrise had finally broken through the trees.</p><p>With just a mournful look for Tim, Sasha and Martin followed Basira to her police car. Tim, now completely unwilling to be left alone with Daisy for even a second, even after all the monsters they’d killed together, no matter how many of the bodies beneath their feet had been bodies they’d buried together, Tim strode to Martin’s car and locked the doors from the inside.</p><p>Daisy heard the doors locked, and through the windscreen, Tim saw the ghost of a smile play around her face as she walked to her police car. He supposed it <em>was</em> funny. He knew better than most that locked doors would not keep him safe from her.</p><p>Basira’s car pulled off, and then they were away. It wasn’t hard to know where they were going, and after a few hours of driving, Tim started to recognise the outskirts of London.</p><p>They stopped at a red light, and Tim checked his mirrors. Somewhere in the journey, Daisy had ended up behind Tim. Her scowl was reflected in his rearview mirror. Perhaps she was worried he might try driving away. Perhaps that would have been a good idea. But there were just too many pulls dragging him right back to the Magnus Institute. </p><p>Regardless of who wanted him there. Or who didn’t.</p><p>When they were about half an hour away, Elias picked up the phone and called down to reception.</p><p>Jon had barely sat down, and he sighed. In the weeks since his appointment with the chiropractor, everything had become easier. When walking didn’t hurt, when pain didn’t fatigue him, when the weekend could be enjoyed, Jon was filled with an energy he hadn’t had since the accident.</p><p>And that energy haunted him, like the cane he kept propped up by his bed in case this morning was the day he’d need it, hoping that his body wouldn’t give out by that afternoon, and that he’d make it home another day without pain. Life was flinching from a hit he knew was coming.</p><p>And since they’d made friends, Elias was always around to ask him how he was, and Jon answered as if he didn’t spend every waking moment monitoring exactly how he was, hoping that twinge wasn’t a relapse, marking every slight falter as a potential symptom, so that he’d be able to tell the doctors where it all started to go wrong when Jon would inevitably deteriorate.</p><p>But they were only friends. Jon would brush off the question, try and gain some more information about Gertrude’s case. Perhaps Elias was as worried about the investigation as Jon was about his healthy condition, because Elias would answer as obtusely as Jon would answer him.</p><p>Jon wasn’t so tired these days, had far less to complain about, but the bone deep dread he felt whenever Elias wanted to speak to him had begun unfairly early this morning.</p><p>‘Hello, Jon,’ he began, when Jon picked up.</p><p>‘Hello, Elias.’</p><p>Since they’d made friends, it was harder to justify being cold with Elias, and far, far more pragmatic to be civil. They were working on a case now, and Elias did at least avoid him outside of work. And rely on him far more the very second he was in the building. Jon still counted it as an improvement, though, at least it was closer to a working relationship.</p><p>Georgie told him that was questionable.</p><p>‘I’m so sorry to be bothering you so early in the morning, but I’ve made an important discovery on Gertrude’s case.’</p><p>‘Oh!’ Jon sat up in his chair, that was something worth hearing.</p><p>‘Indeed. However, it’s not all good news. At least, not for me. I think this discovery is going to put me at risk.’</p><p>‘The killer? They’re here? In the Institute?’ Jon lowered his voice a touch.</p><p>Elias stifled a laugh.</p><p>‘I believe so.’ He said gravely. ‘Because of this, I’m going to come forward with my evidence very shortly, let law enforcement deal with the murderer, and then I’m going to retire. Immediately.’</p><p>Jon didn’t know how to respond. </p><p>‘And Jon, I would really like you to consider taking over the Institute for me.’</p><p>‘What?’ Jon felt lightheaded. ‘Why me?’</p><p>‘Because you’re upper management, you’ve essentially been running the place from day one, and you’re the only candidate for the role under the age of seventy. It’s a bit sudden, but if I am going to pick a successor today, I’d like one that won’t have to be replaced tomorrow.’</p><p>Jon coiled the telephone cord around his fingers. He was hesitating. The phone line crackled with static.</p><p>‘So Jon, if you’re willing to accept, please come up to my office and sign some paperwork. You’re the only one I can trust with this, I don’t know who else I’ll ask if not you.’</p><p>Jon was never going to say no. It wasn’t in his mind or heart. He’d had his problems with the Institute, and he was never going to like Elias after the way their relationship had ended, but this was the promotion of a lifetime, Elias would soon be out of his hair, and someone like Jon could change the Institute for the better, once he was in a position to put change into practice.</p><p>‘I’ll be five minutes.’</p><p>In his office, Elias smiled as he prepared the paperwork. Only one page was necessary, one signature needed, but his archivists and the hunters were still fifteen minutes away.</p><p>With ten minutes to go, Jon knocked on Elias’ door.</p><p>He still looked so wary around him, and Jon didn’t even know what Elias had done to him. All this concern, just for the human, mundane things Elias had done. For speaking without respect, for overstepping some boundaries, for dismissing Jon’s perspective. How little he knew, and how afraid he was nonetheless.</p><p>As Jon signed page after page of jargon, Elias wondered how long Jon could have stayed out of the world of the supernatural, if Elias hadn’t thrown him into it. He could have lived a whole lifetime free of the fear.</p><p>‘You might want to update your emergency contact.’ Elias pointed out, fondly remembering how Jon had named his dead grandmother when he first joined the Institute, leaving him so totally alone when he needed someone most. </p><p>With a frown, Jon named Georgina Barker, and turned the page.</p><p>Elias knew when the manhunt broke into the Institute. He smiled, leaned back in his chair as Jon reached the final page of his contract. Voices started to break from behind the door. Jon turned to look, but Elias reached out, turned Jon’s head back to his contract with the very tips of his fingers.</p><p>The hairs on the back of Jon’s neck stood on end.</p><p>‘If you want to take over, sign here now, Jon.’ Elias told him, cordially.</p><p>Jon looked up at Elias. He was still afraid. There was something so wrong with Elias, something so fundamentally flawed about what he thought was okay. </p><p>Taking over from Elias would force him out, though.</p><p>‘Okay.’</p><p>Jon signed his name, and took the contract with the Magnus Institute. Jonathan Sims, Lead Director of the Magnus Institute.</p><p>To Elias, it looked grand.</p><p>‘Done.’</p><p>The door burst open, and Tim was forced through the door first, just in case their suspect was prepared to fight back.</p><p>Instead, he saw Jon, hunched over some documents at Elias’ desk, pen in hand.</p><p>‘No, Jon! Don’t!’ He called out. Jon twisted around in his seat, and Tim walked over, taking the paper from Jon. He protested, but Tim saw that the page was full and leant against the table.</p><p>‘Fuck.’</p><p>It was already too late.</p><p>‘Jon?’ Daisy was outraged. She and Basira had suspected him all along. They stormed into the office, and Sasha ran in after them, pulling Martin in after her. Jon spluttered.</p><p>‘What, no, not Jon, what’s he <em> doing </em> here?’ Sasha muttered, gesturing to Elias with an open hand, as if pulling off a magic trick. ‘Elias!’  </p><p>The officers’ faces sceptical, Martin and Tim conflicted.</p><p>‘I’m sorry, what the hell is going on?’ Jon demanded, looking from them back to Elias, resting his jaw in the palm of his hand, a sardonic smile on his lips.</p><p>‘Jon, I believe I told you I was about to make a witness statement. You didn’t think I’d leave you out, did you?’</p><p>‘You’re telling<em> them</em>?’ Jon was appalled.</p><p>‘They’re about to ask, aren’t they?’</p><p>His acceptance had unbalanced them all. Sitting there, surrounded by documents, pushing his glasses up his nose before he addressed them, he didn’t look like he was about to be accused of murder.</p><p>Jon, antsy in his seat, eyes darting from Elias to the intruders, Martin and Sasha, flanked by two officers, Tim between them and Jon, horrified to see Jon was trapped too, horrified to see his friends stuck between the officers, horrified to hear Elias, his boss and something of a mentor, accused of murder.</p><p>Tim elbowed Sasha, feeling the cops’ impatience, feeling his own, too. ‘Ask him.’</p><p>‘Elias Bouchard, did you kill Gertrude Robinson?’</p><p>Elias sucked a breath through his teeth and winced.</p><p>‘You know, Sasha, that was a good attempt. You could almost get me to talk, like that. Almost.’</p><p>Daisy was on her in an instant, and Elias couldn’t help but laugh.</p><p>‘But! I will tell you anyway. I just want you all to know, I’m telling you the truth of my own free will.’</p><p>Daisy let Sasha go, pushing her into Tim. He couldn’t help but catch her, even after everything.</p><p>‘Talk.’ Daisy stepped forward. </p><p>‘Of course. Is there a tape recorder running? Oh, good, Sasha has one. That’s excellent.’</p><p>Sasha made a startled noise, and patted her denim jacket. Her face sank, and she pulled out a tape recorder, red light indicating that it was recording.</p><p>‘I- I swear, I didn’t know.</p><p>‘What is <em> happening</em>?’ Jon demanded, fear hiding in the hostility in his voice. He was ignored. Daisy took a step closer to Elias' desk, something almost crazed in her eyes as she watched him with intent. </p><p>‘Did you kill her or not?’ Daisy asked. Elias just smiled back easily, something cold glimmering in his eyes.</p><p>‘And just one last time, I’m telling of you of my own free will,’ he said, calm and collected, like he was explaining something very simple, before pulling his gaze from Daisy's and looking directly into Jon's eyes. 'I did. I killed Gertrude Robinson.’</p><p>For a split second, the whole office was silent. Then the room exploded.</p><p>It was Martin, actually, who first reacted.</p><p>‘Oh, you lying piece of shit! You told me- you <em> told </em> me-’ His words were clipped by anger as strode over to Elias’ desk, fists clenched, one hand squeezing so tightly around the phone loaded with blackmail.</p><p>‘I told you lies, Martin.’ Elias told him pleasantly. ‘Gertrude was nothing like that. And not a bit like your mother, either. But it certainly made me the last person you suspected.’</p><p>‘Fuck you!’ Before anyone could react, Martin rounded the desk and pushed Elias' chair over, sending Elias sprawling onto the floor in a loud crash. Jon jumped out of his chair, still reeling, and looked at Elias, seemingly unperturbed.</p><p>‘You killed Gertrude?’ Jon looked down on Elias. He couldn’t understand. He was trying to wrap his head around what Elias had just told him, but <em> he couldn't understand</em>. </p><p>‘You killed Gertrude, and you- you <em> humoured </em> my investigation, and then you- you brought me here to tell me- after all this- after everything- after we were- what is <em> wrong </em> with you?’</p><p>He was hyperventilating. He felt Tim’s hand on his shoulder, solid and comforting, as Tim got past Jon to Elias, who had turned over onto his front, and began to get back up to his feet.</p><p>Tim aimed a hard kick to his belly and Elias collapsed groaning with pain.</p><p>Betrayal was betrayal, but muscle memory and old habits brought Daisy into the fray with Tim, like old times. Jon leaned on the desk as he watched the carnage from the outside, and Sasha looked on, in delight, and Basira looked on, calculating.</p><p>‘You tried to kill me too, didn’t you?’ Sasha shouted over the din.</p><p>They stopped. Daisy bent down and seized Elias by the collar and dragged him up to standing. He swayed, limp in her one handed grip, dress shoes skimming the ground. </p><p>‘Go on, answer the question.’ </p><p>Elias remained silent, so she slapped him across the face. His face snapped to the side with the impact, but when he turned back, he was still smiling. </p><p>Frustrated, unnerved, Daisy growled, ‘Sasha your compelling is crap-’</p><p>Elias laughed, spitting blood down his lips, down his chin. </p><p>‘Yes, Sasha, I tried to kill you. That’s what you really wanted to know, when you came back from America, isn’t it? The second that cult, I believe they were of the Dark, the second you got it out of her that I sent them after you and your… your attack dog, you came straight back across the pond to find out if it was true. Yes, Sasha, I tried to kill you. Happy?’</p><p>The words were a lance through Tim.</p><p>‘That’s why you’re here?’ he asked, turning to her. She had been avoiding his gaze, but she looked back earnestly, trying to explain. </p><p>‘It’s not like that- I thought if he was trying to kill me, then he must have killed Gertrude.’</p><p>‘That’s a leap.’ Basira pointed out.</p><p>‘Probably killed Gertrude.’ She amended.</p><p>Everyone was staring at her.</p><p>‘I had a hunch.’</p><p>Tim wiped his face, and began to pace. ‘You didn’t come back for us at all. This, this was all just an accident. Coincidence.’</p><p>Daisy watched him pace, grip on Elias beginning to slip. </p><p>Sasha’s eyes were wide and beseeching. ‘Tim, it’s really- I only figured it out when I found out he was trying to kill me too, that’s-’</p><p>And he was nodding along, but the hurt in his eyes cut Sasha to the core.</p><p>‘I was always going to come back.’ She had promised. The words were quiet, and hollow, and Tim sighed.</p><p>‘Sorry, you tried to kill Sasha? Why on earth-’ Jon felt sick, barely keeping up with it all.</p><p>‘Yes, I did,’ he admitted, freely. Jon took another shuddering breath, waiting for everything to make sense, or for a TV crew to burst in, and make fun of his naïvety, finally let him in on the joke.</p><p>‘She was investigating Gertrude’s life in America, retracing her steps. And, in my opinion, becoming far too much like her. So, I called in a favour, and tried to have you killed. But, here you are, and here I am.’</p><p>‘Not for long.’ Daisy pulled her handgun from her holster once again, and this time, she was met with no resistance. </p><p>Elias wiped the blood from his face, smearing it up his cheek instead. He looked deranged, dripping with blood and freshly blooming bruises.</p><p>‘I don’t think you want me dead,’ Elias told Martin. He laughed, coldly.</p><p>‘I think you’ll find I do.’ His voice was venom.</p><p>‘Oh, I see. You don’t understand yet, do you?’ Elias almost sounded disappointed, pity dripping mockingly off his words. </p><p>‘Elias-’ Martin warned, ready to strike him again, but something in Elias' words held him back, frozen. His eyes pinned Martin to the spot. </p><p>‘Tell me, you understand what working for me means. You know that much, don’t you?’ </p><p>‘Means we can’t leave,’ Tim filled in, the reality of it leaving him bitter.</p><p>‘<em>What?</em>’ Jon asked. He was ignored, again.</p><p>‘And why’s that?’ Elias asked lightly.</p><p>‘We’re bound to the Institute?’ Sasha offered, dubiously.</p><p>‘No,' Elias smirked. ‘You’re bound to me.’</p><p>‘<em>What?!</em>’ Jon’s voice pitched.</p><p>Martin’s face paled.</p><p>‘Yes, if I die, you will all die. So I advise you to convince Daisy not to kill me, now. Not unless you all want to meet Rosie’s fate.’</p><p>The image flashed through Jon’s mind, the former receptionist, her eyes leaking from between her fingers when she fell to the floor in front of Jon’s desk, the ambulance, he’d never seen her again-</p><p>‘But I-’ He started, his head spinning. </p><p>‘No, Jon, you <em> didn’t </em> work for me.’ Elias said, his cruel eyes the singular point of focus in the room.  ‘Up until about five minutes ago, you were perfectly free to go. And now, you’re bound to me for the rest of our lives. Just like Martin, Tim, and Sasha.’ </p><p>‘If you convince Daisy and Basira to merely arrest me, a decent consolation, I imagine,’ he inclined his head so slightly towards Basira, watching from the corner of the office. ‘Then, as my replacement, Jon will be the new Head of the Institute.’ </p><p>Jon was trembling, now, his body numb, and his head swam. ‘I don’t understand. I… I don’t <em> understand</em>!’</p><p>‘No, you don’t.’ Elias reached out, took Jon’s hand in his own bloodied one. </p><p>‘But you will, if we live that long. Let me make it clear to you, though. From now on, we are the two halves of the beating heart of this Institute. Whatever happens to us, will happen to them. Kill either of us, and we all die.’</p><p>Jon shook him off, fell back, hand coming away red, and wet with blood. He recoiled.</p><p>‘I don’t want this.’ He was on the edge of hysteria. </p><p>‘No, you made that clear when we split up. After a year and a half together, I thought there was something real between us. But I suppose, keeping my secrets came between us.’</p><p>Elias smiled, and Jon’s vision began to tunnel. Everyone was <em> staring </em> at Jon, surprise, pity, horror. He clamped that bloody hand to his mouth, silencing the noise of pain.</p><p>‘You, you are one sick bastard,’ Daisy began. ‘Martin, there’s a lot we can do without killing him, come on.’</p><p>He nodded. ‘Absolutely.’</p><p>And Daisy threw Elias to the floor, and brought the heel of her boot down hard against his body.</p><p>‘Didn’t take much to convince her, did it?’ Elias coughed, winded, clutching his sides. ‘Oh yes, of course, Martin, I forgot you put all <em> my </em> evidence against them to good use, didn’t you? How could I forget that’s how you’ve strung everyone along this far?’</p><p>‘You stole that evidence from Elias?’ Tim asked. Martin shrugged.</p><p>‘Yes?’</p><p>‘You think he Beheld any of that?’ Elias taunted through laboured breaths. ‘He’s barely an avatar of the Eye, how could he possibly do that? He couldn’t even tell when I was lying to his face. But neither could you, Tim. You just never thought to check, but Martin? He couldn’t tell I was lying if he tried.’</p><p>The room seemed to ripple as Jon tried to wrestle with what he was hearing. He gave up. He didn’t understand. The room was too tight, too heavy, the light too bright. This was acute panic, he registered, dimly, as everyone in the room gradually came together to beat Elias as close to death as they dared.</p><p>Jon peered down, between the kicking legs, filtered out the panting breath and short sharp swears, and saw Elias. He didn’t understand the nature of the bond Elias was talking about, or the convoluted details of cults and murder. </p><p>But he understood that Elias was dangerous, Elias had played him for as long as he’d known him, lied to him, and endangered him, and exposed their relationship for what it was not only to him, but to almost everyone Jon knew.</p><p>When Elias threw a hand up and found his desk, and tried to pull himself up and away, groaning in pain as he tried to get away from the barrage of pain inflicted on him. Jon looked down upon that man as he leant against his desk.</p><p>And without looking away, Jon’s wrapped his slim fingers around the heavy glass paperweight on Elias’ desk. He felt its cool surface on his fingertips, and looked into Elias' eyes as he struggled to get up. Jon felt the strength in his arm, the heat of his blood racing through his veins.</p><p>Jon brought the paperweight up high above his head, and then down, hard on Elias’ fingers.</p><p>He screamed in pain, dropping to the floor, curled around his broken hand, and still the others’ attack went on.</p><p>Jon watched without concern, without even the fear of Elias slipping away and taking them all with him. He pulled a cigarette from the box in the inside pocket of his blazer, and put it between his teeth. He lit it, and began to smoke as Elias finally passed out.</p><p>Daisy checked his pulse, and nodded, grimly.</p><p>‘There’s a medical facility down at the station.’ Basira pointed out, as Daisy cuffed him, and put him over her shoulder.</p><p>‘It wasn’t instant, when Rosie died.’ Martin called out. The violence uniting them was done, now, their fragile alliance over. ‘If you let him die, I’ll still have plenty of time to-’</p><p>‘Yeah.’ Basira cut him off. ‘We won’t.’</p><p>He nodded, and the three archivists watched the officers go with Elias’ body, the time bomb each of them were strapped to.</p><p>Jon didn’t watch them go.</p><p>Instead, he put Elias’ chair upright, and collapsed into it, cigarette smoke trailing behind him. He flicked the ash onto Elias’ desk.</p><p>There was more smoke than might have been expected, from a single cigarette.</p><p>The archivists turned to face him, sitting behind Elias’ desk, smoke and mist gathering behind him as he studied them each in turn, dark eyes blazing under dark brows.</p><p>‘The three of you are going to sit down, and you are going to inform me of every, <em> single </em> detail that I might have missed.’</p><p>He put the cigarette out with vicious force, scorching the desk. </p><p>‘You are going to make me aware of everything, do you understand?’</p><p>Jon felt the mist at his back, cold against him, as he stared the reluctant archivists down. He vowed to himself that never, ever again would he allow himself to be so left out, so sidelined, so helpless. Not for as long as he lived.</p><p>The room darkened, earth pressing in at the closed windows, if only one could see through the smoke, through the mist. It poured in through the door left ajar, the temperature plummeted, and Jon’s heart pounded. </p><p>The archivists remained silent. Struck dumb and watching something new transpire before their very eyes. </p><p>‘Well? Is anyone going to begin to explain?’</p><p>He was so tired of being left out. A secret was a lonely thing to keep, and an even lonelier thing to be kept from. </p><p>The archivists came together as the floor turned to earth beneath their feet. Jon leapt up from the desk chair, mist whipping around him, clinging to his loose hair, pulling through his fingers.</p><p>‘For God’s sake, answer me!’ The mist and the earth rolled in through the door, up through the floor. It pressed in at the windows, insistent. Sasha looked up at the ceiling.</p><p>Martin followed her gaze, and Tim, finally tearing his eyes from Jon, looked up.</p><p>‘Jon. Jon, look-’ pleaded Tim.</p><p>The ceiling was bulging, a dark shadow of a stain spreading across the plaster. It began to fall in flakes.</p><p>‘Oh.’ Jon released a shaky breath. ‘Oh, not again.’</p><p>Jon knew what was coming next, and there was a small comfort in that. The roof would cave in on him again, just as it had the last time he’d freed himself of Elias.</p><p>‘Jon?’</p><p>Whose voice was that? Jon couldn’t see through the mist and the smoke and the rising earth and falling plaster, it all got in the way. Yes, just like last time, Jon was all alone. And this time, he embraced it as the up and down fell in on each other, taking them all to a place Jon knew well, to a place he carried with him always. To a place he would not be powerless again.</p><p>Just like he wanted.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>At the door of the house who will come knocking?<br/>An open door, we enter<br/>A closed door, a den<br/>The world pulse beats beyond my door.</p><p>Les Amusements Naturel by Pierre Albert Birot</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>